


After the War

by Daisy_Rivers



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Afghanistan, Alex has nightmares, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Comrades in Arms, Divorce, F/M, Gil is a doctor again, Heartbreak, Lost Love, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quite a lot of angst for pretty much everybody except maybe Peggy, Second Chances, Separations, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-08-11 01:07:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 46,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20145031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daisy_Rivers/pseuds/Daisy_Rivers
Summary: Alex, Gil, John, and Herc return from deployment in Afghanistan with varying degrees of damage, both mental and physical. They don't talk about what happened in Helmand Province. Everybody is trying to do the right thing, but almost everybody is unhappy.





	1. We Almost Died in the Trench

**Author's Note:**

> While this is NOT part of the Provoke Outrage AU, you will see some similarities. Other than that, it's modern day, set in the New York area, in Charleston, South Carolina, and in Helmand Province, Afghanistan, near Kandahar.

They all came home, and Eliza was grateful, God knows, grateful beyond words for that. Not unscathed, of course, but nobody ever comes home from war unscathed. She wondered if _scathed_ had ever been a word, because if not, maybe it needed to be. She thought about the scathings that they all had had – her own Alex had nightmares that drove him out of bed to pace in the kitchen at two in the morning. At first she’d gotten up with him, tried to help, but he wanted to be left alone. She had no idea what pictures ran behind the darkness in his eyes.

She’d talked to Lafayette about it; he was back practicing medicine at Columbia Presbyterian, saving lives with surgery just as he’d done in Afghanistan, but there was a bitterness in him that hadn’t been there before. The easy explanation was that the long deployment had cost him his marriage; Adrienne had met someone else, someone who’d never watched an eighteen-year-old boy bleed out under his hands and who wasn’t as “moody” as Gil had become. Her new husband was smiling and light-hearted, and although Eliza would never say it to Alex, she could understand how Adrienne wanted to escape from the darkness.

“We all have nightmares,” Gil had told her. “We’ll probably always have nightmares.” He had sighed then, impatiently shoving the thick curls off his forehead. “There are good doctors who treat PTSD. I can put you in touch.”

“Are you seeing somebody?” she had asked him.

He shrugged. “I’m okay,” he lied, handing her a card with the name _Benjamin Rush, M.D_ on it.

She kept her eyes on the card. “If Alex needs to see him, you probably do too.”

Gil nodded. “I know. I will.”

She couldn’t make him promise.

Herc Mulligan seemed to have done better than most, maybe because he hadn’t left a wife or sweetheart behind. He didn’t have to come home to a relationship forever changed by what he’d seen. “I don’t have anybody who wants me to talk about it,” he told her honestly. “Sometimes – listen, Eliza, I understand that you want to help Alex, and that you think getting him to open up will make things better for him, but maybe it won’t. Maybe talking about it just keeps it in the front of his mind.”

She thought he was wrong about that, but Herc had always been more easy-going than Alex. Well, really, everybody was more easy-going than Alex. Herc thought that time would help, and that with Philip getting to where he smiled and babbled at his parents, Alex would find reasons to be happy again.

Happy. Happiness seemed like an almost unattainable goal. Maybe happiness was out of reach. Maybe peaceful would be enough.

She called Angelica at four o’clock in the morning New York time, nine in London. Angelica had just gotten to the office and was drinking coffee and going through her emails. “Just make an appointment for him with this guy Gil recommended,” Angelica said. “If you make the appointment, he’ll probably go.” It’s what Angelica would do, but her John Church had never been to war, and anyway, Eliza wasn’t Angelica.

“Have you talked to John Laurens?” Angelica asked.

“No. He’s had enough heartache to deal with.” John Laurens had nearly died, and they said he would never fully regain the use of his right arm. Like Gil, he had been married before the war; unlike Gil, he had come home to a wife and a small daughter glad and grateful to see him. Then the young Laurens family had been struck by the kind of tragedy that the gods seem to arrange with an incomprehensible cruelty: three months after John’s return, Patty Manning Laurens had put her hand to her head at the dinner table, saying she had a terrible headache. She’d looked at John with sudden terror in her eyes and had slipped off her chair, dead of a brain aneurysm. Eighteen-month-old Francie had wailed in her high chair as John futilely tried to administer CPR with his one good hand. The EMT’s had found him sobbing on the floor next to his wife’s body. They’d told him it wasn’t his fault, and later a doctor had explained gently that Patty had been gone the instant the aneurysm struck. There was nothing anybody could have done. John’s younger sister Martha moved into the pretty house in Charleston to help with Francie and his physical therapy and – everything. For a while John and Alex had talked or texted occasionally, but they were barely in contact now, and Eliza couldn’t see that John, broken himself, could help Alex.

“You should,” Angelica said now. “Maybe it would be good for both of them if he came for a visit.”

Another idea that Angelica would have no problem acting on, but Eliza couldn’t think of John Laurens without her heart aching, and she could only see that telling John about Alex’s nightmares would do nothing but add to his unhappiness.

“It’s just dreams, Eliza,” Alex told her when she showed him Dr. Rush’s card. “Everybody has bad dreams sometimes.” There were dark shadows around his eyes as proof.

“Maybe you could just talk to him,” she said. “One visit, see what he says.”

“He’d probably just prescribe Ambien or something,” Alex muttered impatiently, shoving the card into the desk drawer. “Stop making such a big deal about it.”

Two nights later she got up with the baby and found Alex’s side of the bed empty and cold. She changed and fed Philip, rocked him back to sleep and went quietly downstairs. Alex was alone in the kitchen, not pacing this time. He sat at the table, his face hidden in his folded arms as he tried to muffle the sobs that wracked his body.

“Go see Dr. Rush yourself,” Theo suggested, bouncing little Daisy against her shoulder. “Tell him what you’ve told us.”

“Theo’s right,” Peggy nodded. “If it’s getting worse, you can’t wait for Alex to fix it.” She stirred her coffee thoughtfully. “Maybe he can’t. Maybe Alex is hurting so much that he can’t see what’s going on himself.”

“I don’t know,” Eliza said. “Sometimes he’s fine. I don’t think he’s having any problem at work.”

“That’s what Aaron says,” Theo confirmed. Aaron and Alex were associates at the same law firm. “Maybe work is taking all the energy he’s got, though, Eliza. Maybe when he gets home there’s just nothing left.”

“There’s me,” Eliza whispered. “I’m there. Philip’s there.”

Peggy put her hand on her sister’s. “Honey, do you want me to talk to Gil?” To everyone’s surprise, Peggy and Gil had been seeing one another for a few months.

“I already talked to him. He’s the one who recommended Dr. Rush.”

“I know, but maybe just give him an update?”

Eliza shrugged. “If you want. I don’t want to bother him, though.”

Gil called Alex a couple of days later. Eliza didn’t stay in the room to listen, but Alex found her in the family room a little while later.

“What did you tell Peggy?” he asked, not quite angry, but not pleased.

She stood up, determined to talk it out. “I told her you couldn’t sleep. I told her Gil had recommended a doctor, but you wouldn’t make an appointment.”

“I’ve had insomnia before, Eliza, stop acting like it’s fatal. I don’t need all this drama.”

Eliza didn’t quite flinch at that, but a shadow flickered over her face. Alex had enough decency to be ashamed of himself. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s unfair. I know you’re just concerned for me.”

That was so condescending as to be almost as offensive as the unfounded accusation of drama.

“For all of us,” she said quietly. “Yes, of course I’m concerned for you because every day you come home from work as late as you can, completely exhausted, maybe eat a little bit of dinner, and go straight to bed. Then you wake up in the night and go downstairs, and the next morning it starts all over again. We don’t talk. We don’t do anything on the weekends because you’re too tired, and I get that, I do, really, but maybe there’s a way to feel better. Maybe this Dr. Rush could help, but you don’t care enough to even see him.”

Alex stared at her. “You’re right. I don’t.” It was as if he were talking about something entirely unrelated.

“But it’s not just you,” Eliza went on determinedly, although she was starting to feel sick. “It’s me too. It’s my life too. I’m still on maternity leave, so I’m home with Philip, and don’t get me wrong, that’s exactly where I want to be, but in a few more weeks, I go back to work. Then what? We both go to work all day, come home to sleep, and that's it? That’s the next fifty years or so? What about Philip? What kind of life is that for him?”

Alex turned away from her and walked over to the fireplace, staring into its emptiness. He leaned his elbow against the mantel and put his head down on his arm. Eliza stood where she was, wanting to go to him and put her arms around him, afraid it would just make him mad. _It didn’t used to be like this, _she thought. _It used to be easy to touch him, to reach out to him. Even when we fought, I was never afraid that things wouldn’t be okay. _She thought about Adrienne. Is this what it been like for her and Gil? Had she just given up trying to make it better? _I won’t give up. What would happen to Alex if I gave up? _

Gil seemed better lately, though. Peggy made him laugh. Why couldn’t she make Alex laugh anymore? She took a step forward. “Alex …”

He turned toward her, his face wet with tears. “I’m so sorry,” he sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”

* * * * *

Dr. Rush was not at all what she’d imagined he’d be. He was young, had a goatee, and was what her dad would have called a “snazzy dresser.” He didn’t sit behind his desk, but across from them in a leather chair just like the ones she and Alex were sitting in. He was wearing skinny jeans and an open blazer over a black tee shirt. Nobody could have looked less like a psychiatrist.

“How long were you there?” he asked Alex.

“Fourteen months.”

“Where?”

“Helmand Province, not far from Kandahar.”

Dr. Rush nodded. “It’s rough there.”

“Yeah.” Alex wasn’t making eye contact with him, and Eliza felt like maybe he’d been right, maybe this was a waste of time.

“What did you do?” the doctor continued.

Alex shifted impatiently in his seat. “I was JAG. I had it easy. I didn’t even see any action except for a few IEDs. I never got hurt.”

Dr. Rush looked at him closely and was silent for a minute. “Didn’t you?”

“No.”

“Tell me why you’re here.”

Alex gestured at Eliza. “My wife wanted me to come.”

“Why do you suppose she wanted you to see me?”

“I already told you,” Alex said, elaborately patient. “I have nightmares.”

“What about?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember any of them?”

“No.” Alex was bouncing his foot, and Eliza was afraid he was going to lose his temper.

Dr. Rush swung around to face her. “What happens when Alex has a nightmare?”

“He wakes up, he gets out of bed. Usually, he goes to the kitchen.”

“How do you know where he goes?”

Eliza glanced sideways at Alex, but he didn’t seem to be listening. “I’ve followed him.”

“What does he do in the kitchen?”

“Sometimes he just paces.”

“Is that all?”

She was twisting the hem of her shirt with her fingers without even realizing she was doing it. “Once I saw him crying,” she said softly, and Alex turned to stare at her as if she’d betrayed him.

“Do you remember that, Alex?” Dr. Rush asked.

“No.”

“Well, let’s assume that Eliza is telling the truth, because she doesn’t seem to be someone who would just make things up, right?” He waited for Alex to respond and finally got a reluctant nod. “What sort of thing might make you cry?”

“I don’t know. The same things that make everybody else cry – people dying, kids being hurt, sad movies.”

“You cry over sad movies?”

Alex shrugged. “Yeah.”

The psychiatrist went back to Eliza. “Do you remember Alex ever crying over a sad movie?” he asked.

_It seemed like a million years ago, her and Alex, Gil and Adrienne, Angelica and Church, Herc and that cute guy from Jersey he was dating, all of them crammed into the tiny living room of the apartment Alex and Gil shared, eating pizza and watching all eight Harry Potter movies in a weekend marathon. When Cedric Diggory, the noble, quintessentially Hufflepuff Cedric Diggory, was senselessly killed, Alex started crying, really crying, crying so hard that Gil stopped the movie to give him time._

“Yes,” she told Dr. Rush, her own eyes filling with tears.

“What was it?” he asked.

_She didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to remember how she had held Alex in her arms and rubbed his back, telling him that it was all right, how they had all gathered around, nobody joking about it, nobody asking him any questions. Angelica went and got him a glass of water, and then Adrienne had said, “We’re halfway through, we should take a break anyway.”_

_She’d been so grateful for friends who were kind and patient. Later that night, lying in bed, Alex had tried to explain. “He was just … you know, he was really good. Just a good person.” She didn’t disagree, but she’d always wondered why it had hit Alex so hard._

She looked at Alex now, and saw such misery in his face that she couldn’t bear it. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, his eyes begging her not to speak.

“I don’t remember,” she lied.

Dr. Rush knew she was lying, of course, and she knew that he knew, but if she could spare Alex the pain of reliving that raw emotion, she would.

“Alex, do you think you could keep a dream journal?” Dr. Rush asked.

“What’s that?”

“You keep a notebook and pencil by your bedside, and the instant you wake up, you write down anything you remember about your dreams. Dreams slip out of our minds very quickly, so sometimes the dream journal can reveal a pattern and help us see what’s going on.”

Alex twitched his shoulder indifferently. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Okay, let’s meet next week and see what’s in the journal.”

“Sure.” Alex sounded like he had no interest at all in the idea.

Dr. Rush leaned forward. “Alex, for what it’s worth, I don’t know a single person, military or civilian, who came out of Helmand without some degree of PTSD.”

Alex’s lip curled a little. “How many do you know?”

“Quite a few,” Dr. Rush responded, “but I’m also drawing from my own experience.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was in Helmand Province for nearly a year. I spent my first four years out of medical school in the Army Medical Corps.”

“That’s how you know Gil,” Alex said, as if making a discovery.

“I did my residency in psychiatry after I got out, but part of the reason I did it is because of what I saw. Everybody’s damaged by war, but you can get better.”

“You think?” Alex asked flippantly.

“I think. Make an appointment for next Thursday on your way out.”

* * * * *

“It’s not in your hand, John, it’s in your brain. All the knowledge and the skill is in your brain,” the physical therapist said quietly, picking up the pencil that John had thrown angrily across the room.

By now they knew that his right hand would never be able to grip anything again. It wasn’t completely useless, and after a lot of excruciatingly hard work, he could hold things against his chest, even hold onto a jar tightly enough that he could unscrew the lid using his left hand. That was considered by the staff to be pretty spectacular progress. The thing was, he was right-handed. He’d always been right-handed, and every sketch he’d ever made, every picture he’d ever drawn had been done with his right hand. Chris, the physical therapist, kept telling him that he could learn to use his left hand just as skillfully, but every time he tried, it looked like a kindergartner’s scribbles.

Chris gave him back the pencil and sat down next to him. “Print your name,” he said.

“Fuck you,” John told him, his eyes smoldering.

“Not right now,” Chris responded equitably. “I’m working.”

John choked on a laugh. It was probably unprofessional and unethical as hell, but yeah, it had happened. Maybe that was a kind of therapy too, making John feel a little less broken, a little less hopeless. They weren’t in love, weren’t dating, just … sometimes when it was all unbearable, Chris helped him bear it. Chris was ex-Army too, so there were things he understood that maybe nobody else would.

Slowly and carefully, he printed his name, the pencil gripped in his left hand. The lines were easy; the curves weren’t. The last letter of his name was the hardest, but he got it done, and it was legible. He studied it. “It’s not as bad as it was a few weeks ago.”

“No, it’s not. Didn’t you ever play a sport?”

“Nope, I was a drama nerd.”

“So you had to learn lines, right?”

“Sure.”

“And you practiced.”

“Yeah, I think I see where this is going.”

“I’m just saying. I’ll see you in a week, but you have to practice. Write your name on every line, two pages, and then draw basic shapes – circle, square, triangle …”

“Rhombus, parallelogram, I get it.”

Chris put his hand on John’s shoulder. “I know it’s hard. A million things that used to be easy are now hard, and it’s a struggle to zip up your fly. But you still have to practice, and I’ll see you next week.”

John had finally mastered zipping his fly, but not tying his shoes, so he wore slip-ons. It had taken a long time to learn to dress himself one-handed, and even though Martha was cheerfully matter-of-fact about all of it, he had felt humiliated every day. It was better now, and Martha had even gone back to work part time since Francie was in preschool. He liked having the house to himself sometimes. It was getting close to two years since Patty had died, and most days now he barely thought of her. Well, he’d never thought they were soulmates or anything, but when she’d told him she was pregnant and wanted to keep the baby, he’d immediately (as he later described it to Alex) “gone all Southern gentleman” and had suggested they get married. He wouldn’t have been bitterly disappointed if she’d refused, but she didn’t, and they’d gotten along well enough. Francie was the best part of it all for sure, three now, smart and funny and cute, with her father’s curls and her mother’s smile. If he never tied his own shoes or drew another picture, if nobody ever loved him again, at least his life hadn’t been a total waste.

He went into the kitchen and made tea, going slowly because it was still awkward to pour boiling water with his left hand, but he did it, sat at the kitchen table looking out the back window. It was late spring, warm in Charleston now, azaleas making vivid splashes of magenta and scarlet across the neighborhood. South Carolina heat was soft and damp and full of flowers. It was nothing like the blazing desert heat of Helmand Province that produced only dry dust, everything a dull beige color as far as you could see. It was desolate and monotonous and just plain ugly. He had found not one single thing of beauty in his fifteen months in Afghanistan.

Except Alex.

Alex knew he was married, and he knew Alex was engaged, but it was as if they were on another planet, Mercury maybe, with the searing heat of the sun, so far away from home that it would take them light years to get back. The azaleas blurred on the other side of the window, and he saw Alex’s face as he had seen it that first night, laughing, eager, his eyes shining. Ah, it had been too easy … all he’d had to do was kiss him and everything went up in flames.

Everybody knew, everybody always knew everything because there was no privacy, no place to be alone. They weren’t the only ones, God knows, but nobody cared because deployment meant you might die any day and because there was nothing else beautiful in the whole damned country. If he could have Alex even for a little while, there was a reason to stay alive.

Gil asked him once if he ever worried about Patty finding out, but he didn’t. Who was going to tell her? Not him, not Alex, not Herc who had fucked half the company by the time he left, certainly not Gil, the only one of them who seemed like he might have a conscience. Gil held out eight months before he hooked up with a dark-eyed nurse named Alyssa. Gil was inflexibly straight, one of the few who wouldn’t even fool around a little, but that was his preference, and nobody cared about that either.

John had always liked boys as well as girls, maybe a little more than girls, and so had Alex, apparently. It wasn’t just situational for them. It might have happened even if they’d met at home. If they’d met at home, though, maybe they would have had a chance. As it was, they told themselves and each other, it was just a way to get them through. John would go home to Patty, and Alex would go home to Eliza, and they would be okay. Maybe they’d even stay friends … but that was a dangerous thought, John knew, as soon as it drifted into his mind. He tried to imagine being friends with Alex, being in a room with him and Eliza and Patty, the girls going into the kitchen to talk about something girls talk about, him and Alex in the room alone, sitting side-by-side on the couch. He tried to imagine not touching Alex, and he couldn’t. There would not come a time, ever, that he could keep his hands off Alex Hamilton.

That’s how he knew, then, that this was not a distraction to get him through the deployment. He loved Alex more than he had ever loved anyone in his life, and Alex loved him. They would lie in each other’s arms at night, staying as quiet as they could, clinging to one another in a kind of aching desperation because there would come a time when they couldn’t have this, but there would not come a time when they didn’t love each other. Alex would trail tiny soft kisses along John’s jawline, and John would whisper, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Sometimes they would even talk as if they could make it work back at home: Alex would break his engagement with Eliza, and John would ask Patty for a divorce, and they would get married and … something. But in reality, they knew that neither of them had the emotional stamina to do it, the kind of cold cruelty it would take to wreck the lives they had already put together.

In the end, they didn’t get to make a considered decision. In the end – well, it nearly was the end. John was in the passenger seat of the jeep when it hit the IED that blew off the door and half of the front end. Alex was back at camp when they brought him in, pacing outside the medical tent, biting his lip and cursing nonstop. Herc brought him water and then stayed with him because he wouldn’t leave. John was in surgery for hours, and then they airlifted him out to Ramstein. Gil managed to get Alex into the hangar for five minutes, but John was sedated, and Alex was crying, so … there was no thoughtful conversation. There was no goodbye.

Alex tried hard to come up with a good reason not to invite John to the wedding, but he couldn’t think of anything that Eliza didn’t immediately shoot down.

John sent back his polite regrets.

A month later, Martha called Gil to tell him that Patty had died. Gil told Alex and Herc, and they all called and sent flowers, and then made a donation to whatever charity Martha had chosen. Alex let Eliza handle it. He was having enough difficulty dealing with the nightmares.

* * * * *

“Do you and Alex want to hang out with Gil and me?” Peggy asked.

“Hang out how?” Eliza inquired cautiously, tucking the blanket around Philip in his downstairs crib.

“However you want.” Peggy got up and poured herself another cup of tea. “Do you have any cookies?”

“Um, graham crackers, I think,” Eliza told her, waving in the direction of a cupboard.

Peggy wrinkled her nose and sat back down. “Never mind. Anyway, you know, like dinner and a movie, or just dinner or just a movie. Or … I don’t know, mini golf?”

“Mini golf? Seriously?”

“Shut up, I’m trying to be creative.”

“Well, scratch mini golf, but maybe. I’ll have to talk to Alex. It’s been a while.”

Peggy nodded. “I know. Delia would babysit.”

Delia was their cousin, going to community college part time and trying to pick up extra money whenever she could.

“Yeah, I had mentioned it to her a while ago when … well, before things got difficult, and she told me she’d babysit any time. Maybe … you know, I think things may be a little better.”

“You think the doctor is helping?”

“I think so. I hope so. I only went with Alex for the first three visits; Dr. Rush wants to see him alone now. He’s … it’s not that things have really changed much, but maybe Alex is beginning to think it’s possible. At least he’s writing in that dream journal the doctor asked him to keep.”

“What’s he writing?”

Eliza was shocked. “I don’t know! I don’t read it.”

“Oh.” Peggy tilted her head, puzzled. “Why not?”

Eliza waved her hands in agitation. “Because it’s personal. It’s Alex’s, not mine. If he wanted me to read it, he’d say so.”

“Would he?”

“Of course.”

“Does he hide it?”

“No, he leaves it out on the night stand.”

Peggy raised a skeptical eyebrow and took a sip of her coffee. “Then he wants you to see it. If it were Gil, I’d read it when he wasn’t around.”

“Peg, that’s terrible! That’s a violation of trust.” Eliza was horrified.

“You call it a violation of trust, I call it a way to understand what’s ruining the life of the man I love.”

“I think ‘ruining the life’ might be an exaggeration.”

“Do you? Let me ask you …”

“Wait a minute, stop right there.” Eliza held up her hand, palm out. “What do you mean, the man that you love?”

Peggy turned red to the roots of her hair. “I was just using an example.”

“Then why are you blushing?”

“Dammit, Eliza.”

“Come on, tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Eliza’s eyebrow went up. “Margarita Anne Schuyler, you are the worst liar in the family. What’s up?”

Peggy rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Nothing, really, just … you know, it’s good. Gil and me. We’re not just seeing each other now, we’re kind of … together.”

Eliza scooted her chair over to hug her sister. “You’re happy?”

“Yeah, I am. He’s … sweet.”

“Gil?”

“Yeah, I know, he’s not demonstrative in public or anything like that, and he doesn’t bring me flowers every day, but he’s kind, and he’s grateful for all the good things, and he knows how I like my coffee.”

“Well, that is important.”

“Exactly. So see if you can persuade Alex to get out of the house and maybe even have some fun.”

“I’ll try.”

* * * * *

They went to Lantern, a trendy restaurant filled with other successful young doctors and lawyers. Eliza tried not to watch Alex anxiously. It had been hard to persuade him, but she got the feeling that Dr. Rush had also been encouraging him to begin to socialize again, to do some of the things that had been normal life before he’d gone to war.

Peggy worked in public policy research for one of the organizations that had supported their father in politics, and she entertained them with stories of some of the strange questions that ended up on political surveys.

“You know how most of them are ‘on a scale of one to five, how strongly do you agree’?” she said. “Some people will just hit 5 on every question, so we have to throw in questions that prove that they’re actually listening.”

“Like what?” Eliza asked.

“Well, that’s what I’m working on now. I’m coming up with statements that nobody in their right mind could agree with, so if we get fives on them, we toss that person’s result.”

Alex actually seemed to be paying attention. “I think it would be difficult to find statements that nobody could agree with.”

Peggy nodded. “Right, that’s why they put me on it. Partly because I’m pretty smart, but also because they think I’m a little wacky, and I can think this stuff up.”

Gil was grinning at her, amused, yes, Eliza thought, but also admiring. It was good to see him smiling again. How long had it been since Alex had looked at her like that? She couldn’t remember, she realized, and then pushed it out of her mind and dragged her attention back to the conversation.

“Tell them the bathroom one,” Gil was saying.

“Yeah, that’s my favorite.” Peggy recited it in a stilted voice. “On a scale of one to five, with one being _strongly disagree_ and five being _strongly agree_, how do you feel about the statement _Outdoor toilet facilities are more comfortable and hygienic than indoor toilet facilities?”_

“Ew!” Eliza exclaimed, and even Alex laughed.

“I know, right?” Peggy said. “But the questions right before it were about the Governor’s proposed increase in education funding, so we have to be sure people are paying attention to the content of the survey. And of course, we have statements that go the opposite way, things like agree or disagree _Public schools should teach reading_.”

Alex frowned. “Can I assume everybody agrees with that?”

“Not really, but again, the people who don’t probably aren’t taking the survey in good faith, so we toss them.”

Gil had his arm over the back of Peggy’s chair. Eliza was trying to pay attention to what everybody was saying, but she was watching Gil’s fingers resting lightly on her sister’s shoulder, his thumb stroking the bare skin at the edge of her sleeveless top. She loved her sisters more than anyone in the world except Alex and Philip, and she was happy for Peggy, really, but at the same time, she was trying to tamp down a feeling in herself that could only be jealousy. She wanted Alex to smile at her. She wanted him to touch her the way Gil was touching Peggy.

When he’d first come home, it was as if he couldn’t get enough of her. They were both working then, but somehow they found time to make love almost every day, sometimes two or three times a day, with an intensity that bordered on compulsion. She welcomed it as evidence that Alex needed her, that he’d missed her the whole time he’d been away and was trying to make up for it now. Sometimes, though, it seemed almost desperate, as if he had something to prove, and the tenderness that had once been an important part of their lovemaking seemed to be gone. At first, Eliza told herself that it was because Alex was overcome by his strong feelings, but as time went on, nothing changed, and it began to seem more like his goal was to exhaust both of them. She tried to slow things down a little, to talk the way they always had, but it just made Alex impatient. It had gone on until she got pregnant. Alex was happy; of course he was happy, she told herself. They’d talked about it before he deployed, and they’d talked about when they’d facetimed. It had been part of the plan for their lives together. Of course Alex was happy. It was just that she was overcome with miserable morning sickness at first, throwing up everything but saltines and weak tea. Then Theo had brought her some kind of magical homemade chicken soup that she could keep down, and she’d practically lived on it for two months. The morning sickness gradually passed, and by the beginning of her second trimester, she was feeling almost like herself again.

By then, though, Alex’s nightmares had started. By then he had withdrawn into the long hours of work and the nights of troubled sleep that had become a pattern. She’d never minded initiating sex, but now it seemed like she was always the one who did it. Sex in the last trimester of pregnancy requires some creativity, and Alex wasn’t interested in being creative. Oh, he hadn’t been outright cruel. “Get your rest,” he’d said, kissing her on the cheek and turning over in bed.

Then Philip was born, and that was wonderful, and they both adored him. Of course Alex loved his son, but she was the one on maternity leave, and she was breastfeeding, and it was much harder for Alex to find the time to interact with Philip than it was for her. She thought it might change when Philip began sleeping through the night and she wasn’t so exhausted, but it didn’t. Now Philip was six months old, sitting up by himself and trying to learn to crawl, and Alex had been home for longer than he’d been deployed, and yet she felt like she and her husband were living parallel lives in the same house. She’d begun to wonder if that was just what happened after you’d been married a while, but it wasn’t true of Angelica and Church or Theo and Aaron. And she knew, she _knew_ in the deepest reaches of her heart that Alex loved her as much as she loved him. She knew.

She watched Peggy put her hand up to her shoulder to touch Gil’s, watched them smile at each other, and she stood up abruptly with a quick ladies room excuse. She locked herself in the stall until the tears stopped, then pressed a cold wet folded paper towel over her eyes and redid her make-up.

Later, in bed, she reached for Alex, slid her hand under his tee shirt, ran her nails lightly down his back the way he’d always liked. He sighed, and he didn’t refuse, but it was like they were going through the motions of a scene they’d played a thousand times. As if they both knew the script perfectly, but they were playing the roles of fictional characters named Alex and Eliza Hamilton.

* * * * *

Eliza stood in front of the night stand staring at the bright yellow spiral notebook. _Dream Journal,_ Alex had printed neatly on it, as if it wasn’t obvious. Could Peggy be right that Alex left it in plain sight so she would read it? What was it her mother always said? _“Never eavesdrop because you might hear something about yourself that you don’t want to know.”_ Wasn’t this the same thing? What might Alex have dreamed about her? What might he have written about his feelings?

She picked the notebook up, holding it tightly.

_Not feelings,_ she told herself. _It’s a dream journal. He just writes down what he dreams. We all have crazy dreams sometimes. They don’t have to mean anything. Anyway, if I knew what Alex was dreaming about, maybe I could help him. I would at least be less frustrated about his behavior, and that would be better for both of us, wouldn’t it?_

_“A betrayal of trust,” _she heard herself saying to Peggy, but Peggy didn’t see it that way, and Peggy was a good person. Alex could have put the journal in a drawer, at least, or locked it in his desk, but here it was, right next to the bed she slept in every night. Was that really a coded invitation?

Her heart was beating fast, which was completely ridiculous. She was about to look at words written in a spiral notebook in her own bedroom in her own house. There was no reason for her to feel like a thief. She opened the notebook.

_May 7: Fog, I think. Trees? Sure as hell not Helmand Province. No sound._

_May 10: Trees. Woods? Somebody, maybe? I don’t know. This is stupid._

_May 16: It’s dark. Foggy. I can’t see anything. Running. I don’t know why. (Is that better, doc?)_

Under this entry in a different handwriting: **Yeah, a little**

_May 19: Still foggy. Still dark. I’m running. Is somebody else running or am I hearing my own footsteps? I don’t like this._

**It’s not about liking it, Alex**

_May 21: I’m chasing someone or someone’s chasing me. I can’t see in the fog, and I run into some bushes or branches or something. I’m scared (in the dream, I mean, not really)_

**Really, not really?**

_May 24: It’s dark. It’s foggy. Damn weather never changes. Running, not chasing. Lightning? Hit the branches again, can’t get through. Is that symbolism? You don’t have to be sarcastic, by the way._

**1\. It could be symbolism. 2. We’re both fluent in sarcasm, so I’m communicating in our common language.**

Eliza had to smile at that. It was more than a dream journal; it was a way that Alex could say things that he might not want to say to the doctor’s face. Ben Rush seemed to understand Alex very well, and she was grateful to him. Maybe the therapy was going to help. Maybe it was already helping. She glanced at the clock. Philip would be waking up from his nap soon. Just a couple more pages.

_May 30: Still dark and foggy (not going to mention that anymore because it’s a given). I’m running, breathing hard, but I don’t know if something scary is chasing me or if I’m chasing something that I have to catch or if I’m in a race. They all seem like possibilities, if that makes any sense. And there are still branches or bushes or whatever, but this time they scratched my arm, but they didn’t stop me. Lightning, or at least definitely a flash of light. Maybe fireworks?_

**Focus on the running/chasing when you’re in the dream. It’s probably not fireworks. **

_June 3: Running because there’s something – a place? – I have to get to. Somebody else is running. Maybe I have to get there first? The light again, and you’re right, dammit, it’s not fireworks. I love fireworks, but this light is scary._

**Good detail, Alex. Next time, tell me more about how it makes you feel.**

Eliza closed the notebook and put it back in the exact same place, lining it up carefully with the box of tissues and feeling silly for doing it, but she didn’t want Alex to think she was spying on him, even if she was. What would Alex say if she told him she’d read the journal? She tried to put together one of those imaginary conversations in her head, but all she could visualize was the hurt that would be in his eyes.

* * * * *

“Make flowers now,” Francie said, entranced by the house that John had drawn for her. He knew he hadn’t gotten the roof line right, but Francie thought everything he drew was beautiful.

“What color?” he asked her.

“Pink and red.”

He picked up the pink marker and started adding landscaping to the house picture. Markers were easy, but he was practicing with brushes now too. Maybe Chris had been right. Maybe the skill was in his brain, and all he had to do was retrain the muscles. He blended the pink into the red, added leaves in a few shades of green, and realized that he wanted to be using a brush. You couldn’t really blend marker, and it had begun to matter to him again to get it right. Art therapy, Martha called it, but that wasn’t really it. It was his life. It was the one thing other than his daughter that he wanted to live for.

When he was in college, one of his professors had said, “There are pictures in your head, John, pictures that will show people things they’ve never seen before, maybe change lives. You don’t even know what all the pictures are yet, but if they stay inside your head, they’ll all be lost forever.”

For more than a year, he hadn’t cared about painting the pictures that were in his head. Now he did. He wasn’t good enough yet, but now he knew he could be, and he was willing to do the work to get there.

He signed his name with a flourish and handed the picture to Francie. Her face lit up. “Draw me now, Daddy.”

It was her bedtime. “How about if I draw you tomorrow? You need to get some sleep.”

“I don’t want to,” she pouted.

He tousled her mop of curls, so like his own. “I know, but it’s time for sleep now. Go find Teddy.”

Almost all the plush had been worn off Teddy, and one ear had been replaced with fabric that didn’t quite match, but Francie still clung to him at night. She picked him up from the chair where she’d left him, and John took her upstairs to tuck her in.

“Will you draw Teddy too?” she asked sleepily after he finished reading _Go, Dog, Go_.

“Sure,” he promised, and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll draw you and Teddy both.”

Portraits, he thought, half smiling as he walked down the stairs. Portraits had been what he did best, but he hadn’t tried one in a while. He went to the small room that served as a home office and got some scissors out of the desk. There were some shipping boxes shoved up against the wall, boxes that had been there since he came home from Afghanistan. Boxes that, at one point, he’d sworn he would never open. He slashed the packing tape on the boxes and sat down on the floor next to the first one.

Junk, really, mostly, all sorts of things thrown in. Of course, he hadn’t packed his things. He wondered who had, whether it was a volunteer or if somebody had been assigned. Would the Colonel have let Alex do it? Probably not. The Colonel was no fool.

He went to the kitchen to get a trash bag so he could get rid of things before he had a chance to think about them. There were packs of tissues and wipes, bone-dry now, that Patty had sent him, a card signed _Love, Patty and Baby ??_ because they’d had such a hard time picking a name. He found a pretty blue scarf that he’d bought for Patty in the market in Kandahar a couple of days before he got hit. He’d completely forgotten about it, and now he sat on the floor with it on his lap, wishing he could give it to her, wishing she hadn’t died, wishing she’d been the love of his life. If she hadn’t died, he’d be able to have a normal life, maybe another baby or two, a family to raise to fill up his days with neighborhood cookouts and school concerts and soccer games. He and Patty would always have been friends, and he wouldn’t have had all this empty time to think about what he tried so hard not to think about. If she’d been the love of his life, he’d be grief-stricken, but at least he would have had a few years with the love of his life, a few years where he could look across the room every day and feel his heart swell with pure joy.

Near the bottom of the box, he found the sketchbook, the big one with the twelve by eighteen inch pages. He opened it slowly, knowing what he’d see. This was the one he’d used for figure studies and portraits. The first few pages had guys in uniform in various poses, just to get a feel for how the uniform fabric draped, how they held themselves, and then there were more detailed pictures where you could see who they were – Herc stretched out on a bunk, headphones on, listening to music, that guy from Boston, leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette. What the hell was his name? Sam, that was it. He’d been killed a week after John drew the picture. He should try to find Sam’s family, maybe, send them the sketch. He turned the page and there was Gil reading, his face intent and oblivious to his surroundings, the Colonel at his desk, the weight of responsibility clear in the lines of his face.

And then there were pictures of Alex. Of course, Alex. Alex grinning, beating everybody at blackjack; Alex lecturing some poor fool who had asked a question about the Constitution, his hand chopping the air. Alex looking at John, his face soft and his eyes dark. Alex had become his favorite portrait subject.

A few pages further on, Alex shirtless, lying on his bunk, hands under his head, and then, inevitably, Alex naked, breathtakingly beautiful, the curves of his body so perfectly drawn that John reached out to stroke them, almost as if he could feel Alex’s warm brown skin under his fingers.

_Love of my life._ Is that how it worked? Did you only get one shot, and if it so happened that the one shot was a fellow soldier in a hostile desert, and all you had was a few months in the middle of a war, was that it? Were you done? He wasn’t even thirty yet, he could easily live another sixty years. Would they all be like this, filled with the almost unbearable longing for a man he was determined never to see again?

He closed the sketchbook and held it to his chest with both arms, his left hand clutching it tightly, his right hand resting on his bent knee. He put his head down and cried.

* * * * *

_June 14: The branches trip me again. There’s somebody with me and we’re both running but I don’t think it’s a race. The lightning again. The lightning is scary but I don’t know why. You want me to say how I feel – there’s something I have to do, and it’s important, but I don’t know if I can do it, and the lightning might stop me. I know that doesn’t make sense._

**It makes sense.**

_June 22: I didn’t have the dream for a week, just saying. Maybe talking to a psychiatrist really can help after all. So last night almost the same, but now there’s another person behind the lightning. Like when the lightning flashes, I can see someone behind it as if they were throwing it?? And they might be throwing it at me or maybe at the other person that I’ve been running with or whatever we’ve been doing. Anyway, I know it’s dangerous, and I think the person throwing it is a bad guy._

**Are you pleased that the dream is less frequent, or do you miss it? Try to see the person who is running with you. Do you think it’s someone you know?**

_June 25: Jinxed myself, obviously, and I do _not_ miss this stupid dream when I don’t have it, but it’s getting weirder. Like the fog was a little thinner and we’re in a cemetery. Straight out of Stephen King, right? And I was talking to the other guy – not the bad guy with the lightning – having a conversation, but I don’t remember what we said. And yeah, I have the impression that it’s someone I know, like a friend, but I can’t identify him._

**Try to see the person’s face. Try to have the conversation again.**

Eliza had gone back to work when Philip was six months old. They’d made an arrangement with her cousin Delia to stay with Philip during the day and take late afternoon or evening classes, which they would pay for. Delia was thrilled that she was going to be able to complete her Associate’s degree without borrowing money, and Alex and Eliza were glad to have a reliable babysitter. Eliza was able to leave work at four most days, so she usually had at least a couple of hours with Philip before Alex got home. Sometimes she had way more than that because Alex might be at work until eight or ten or even later. For a while she wondered if maybe he was somewhere other than work, but Theo checked with Aaron, and Alex was there no matter what time anybody else came or went, so at least he wasn’t having an affair. He was still distant, though, still troubled with the recurring nightmare at least once a week, still not sleeping more than a few hours a night.

When she read his dream journal – and she’d continued to read it, swallowing the shame she’d felt the first time – she saw glimpses of the Alex she’d fallen in love with years ago. His easy back-and-forth with Dr. Rush reminded her of the way they used to talk to each other. Maybe she should be glad. Maybe it was a sign that he trusted the doctor. Why didn’t he trust her anymore, though?

_He’d never trust me again if he knew I was reading this,_ she told herself, opening the journal anyway.

_June 28: In the cemetery again. I don’t like this. I think I might know who the person is. I don’t understand it, though._

**We’ll talk about it.**

_July 1: Why would I dream about John Laurens? And even if I did, why would it turn into a nightmare? I like John. He was my friend. I wouldn’t be afraid of him._

**What happened to the lightning?**

_July 6: I remembered part of the conversation. I said to him, “I’ve been here before.” I feel like maybe that means I’ve been in this dream before? Is that it? And I feel like I should be able to stop the lightning but I can’t. It’s going to hit one of us._

**Is there any memory you have of John Laurens that you recall often? Could “I’ve been here before” be your brain’s way of telling you to look at a particular memory?**

Alex stared at Dr. Rush’s note. What the actual fuck was that supposed to mean? A memory of John Laurens? Jesus, his mind was filled with memories of John Laurens. He spent so much energy trying not to think of John Laurens that he was continually exhausted. He looked up at the doctor silently, his face shuttered and pale.

“Tell me about John Laurens,” Dr. Rush said.

Alex shrugged. “Army buddy, you know how it is. We were in Helmand Province together.”

Dr. Rush nodded. “Sure. What was he like?”

_He was like sunlight and music and all the stars._

Alex looked down quickly. _If I cry I might as well just shoot myself. _He swallowed hard. “He was a good guy. South Carolina boy, had a cute accent.”

_I shouldn’t have said cute. Did that sound gay? It probably sounded gay._

“What did he do in civilian life?”

“He was an artist, you know, a painter. He’d had a couple of gallery shows.”

Dr. Rush looked surprised. “Not a lot of artists in the Army.”

Safer ground here. “I know, right? The military was an old family tradition. I think his dad was pretty tough on him.”

“And is that what he’s doing now?”

Alex shrugged. “I don’t know, actually. He was hurt – his right arm. He was … he’s right-handed, so I don’t know …”

_There was a picture in a folder at the bottom of a locked desk drawer, a picture of him and John, his head on John’s lap, John looking down at him, his fingers in his hair, Alex’s own face looking up as if the sun rose and set in John Laurens. Which it did, of course, but he had to forget that. At the top of the picture was the title: _Self Portrait with Alex_; at the bottom was the scrawled signature. It was so beautiful that he had thought crazily of framing it, but nobody had ever seen it. Who could he show it to? He almost never even looked at it because it hurt so much. What if John couldn’t draw or paint anymore? He knew John had been getting physical therapy, but … was he all right? Did Alex even have the right to ask?  
_

I can’t. If I hear his voice … I can’t.

“So you haven’t kept in touch?” Dr. Rush was asking.

“Um, no, not … we did for a while, but … you know. Everybody’s busy.”

Dr. Rush nodded. “Is John married?”

“His wife died,” Alex said, as if it were a minor detail that he’d forgotten to mention.

“Really? What happened? She must have been very young.”

“Yeah, twenty-five, I think. It was a brain aneurysm. Terrible thing.” He looked past the doctor at the wall. “They had a little girl. I mean, John has a little girl. She’s … maybe three now.”

“How long has it been since you’ve talked to him?”

“I don’t know.” Just over a year. I called him on the Fourth of July last year. He wasn’t taking Francie to see the fireworks because she was too little and the noise would scare her. The physical therapy was going okay but they couldn’t promise that he would be able to use his right hand. His sister was still there. He said he missed me.

_I miss you, Alex. I miss you like I missed water in the desert – no, more than that, I wish … I want … oh, God, Alex, I miss you. Do you think you might ever have business in Charleston? Or even Richmond? Or anywhere on this planet that I could get to in any way because I don’t know how much more of this I can bear, Alex, really._

And Alex had told him in a tight, flat voice that Eliza was pregnant and he was trying to build a life here, and he knew John was bleeding as if every word he spoke in that despicable voice was a shard of glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Benjamin Rush of Philadelphia (1746-1813) was the Surgeon General of the Continental Army and later a professor at the medical school of the University of Pennsylvania. He was one of the first doctors to recognize mental illness as an actual illness that might be amenable to treatment, although effective treatments were many years in the future. In this story, he's Alex's psychiatrist, no easy job. A word of advice: never lie to your psychiatrist.  
My use of italics may be both non-standard and inconsistent. I have no excuse and throw myself on your mercy.  
You will see that I have again used the nickname Patty for Martha; it was common in the 18th century and it helps when about half the female population was named Martha or Elizabeth.  
You'll also see that baby Theodosia is nicknamed Daisy after myself, a monumental act of ego, but let us not forget Miss Austen's Jane Bennet and Jane Fairfax.  
The advice John's college professor gives him is paraphrased from something Lin-Manuel Miranda has said.  
Everybody in this story is trying to do the right thing, or at the very least, everybody's trying to make things better for someone they love. So far, it's not working. Is it even possible that there could be a happy ending?  
Let me know what you think.


	2. Peggy Confides in Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy talks to Eliza about something Gil told her, and Eliza wonders if Alex also has a secret to tell. Alex has a breakthrough in therapy. John meets with a gallery owner. Alex comes home for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A basic knowledge of Harry Potter might be helpful here, but I don't think it's necessary.

Eliza didn’t have to be at work until nine, so when Peggy asked to meet her for coffee at seven thirty, it wasn’t a problem. She made her way through the warm summer rain to Peggy’s favorite Starbucks not far from her apartment. The coffee shop was crowded but almost everybody was getting coffee to go, on their way to businesses and offices in the area. Peggy was alone at a table in the corner. Eliza picked up her tea at the counter and sat down across from her sister. It had been evident from Peggy’s terse one-sentence text that something was wrong. It was even more evident from her face. She’d been crying.

“What happened?” Eliza asked.

Peggy stirred her coffee carefully for a minute, staring at it. She finally looked up. “Do you think if a guy is a cheater, he’ll always be a cheater?”

Eliza’s eyes widened. “Are you talking about Gil? _Gil?_ What the hell?” Gil had always seemed like the last guy who would cheat.

“Not with me,” Peggy said. “It’s not now. It’s when he was married to Adrienne. But they were married.”

“Are you sure? Who told you? There’s always gossip ...”

Peggy shook her head, looking down again. “He told me.”

“Oh, shit.” Eliza reached across the table and put her hand on her sister’s. “Peg, there’s got to be more to the story.”

“It was while he was in Afghanistan.”

Eliza felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. If Gil cheated in Afghanistan … would that give him nightmares? “Listen, I’m not saying it was okay or anything, but it was a really hard time for all of them.”

Peggy lifted her eyes. “It was no picnic for Adrienne either, being alone here.”

“It was different, though. She had friends and family here, she went to work every day, her life was normal. And she was safe.” She hesitated, not sure if she should state the obvious. “And she cheated too, you know. I’m not trying to make excuses, honest to God, but they were both wrong.”

“I know.” Peggy took a sip of her coffee. “We were talking … we’ve been talking about … where our relationship might go. He said … he said he couldn’t not tell me because he didn’t want us to keep secrets from each other.”

Eliza’s throat tightened. She swallowed hard and nodded. “Well, he’s right about that.”

“If he told me, doesn’t it seem like he wouldn’t do it again? I mean, why would he tell me unless he was really trying to be honest with me?”

“I think that’s probably true,” Eliza agreed cautiously. “What did you say to him when he told you?”

“I said I needed time to think about it.”

“That’s good.”

“So I’ve been thinking about it by myself for three days now, and I decided to talk to you.”

“I don’t think I can be much help.”

“Did Alex ever cheat?”

“_Peggy!_”

“I just thought you might, you know, have a perspective …”

Eliza shook her head. “I don’t, at least not that kind of perspective.” She knew that she hadn’t answered the question. “I wish I could help, but I think you have to figure it out on your own. You’re the only one who knows whether you can deal with it or not.”

“I thought you might say that.” Peggy looked across the room and out the front window onto the rain-soaked parking lot. “Speaking strictly hypothetically, Eliza, if Alex told you he had cheated in the past, would you be able to trust him?”

Eliza wanted to give a truthful answer. “Maybe. Probably, I guess. I mean, I don’t know that Alex didn’t cheat on any of his former girlfriends. But I think it’s different if you’re married.” She spread her hands out, palms up. “That’s all I’ve got.”

Peggy bit her lip. “I think … I think I love him. That makes me _want_ to trust him, but I don’t want to make a decision based on emotion, you know what I mean?”

“Of course I do, but Peggy, think about what you’re saying. In a relationship, there’s no way you can keep emotion out of a decision. It’s always going to be part of it. If the way you feel about Gil makes you want to come down on his side, then do it.”

“That’s what I’ve been thinking,” Peggy nodded. “Do you want a scone?”

Eliza looked at her phone. There was still time. “Yeah,” she said. “Blueberry.”

* * * * *

_July 18: John and I are in a graveyard. It’s dark and I tell him, “I’ve been here before,” but I don’t know what he says. And then somebody throws lightning at us and it’s scary._

**Are you sure John replies to you? How does somebody “throw lightning”?**

_July 25: I say, “I’ve been here before,” and I think maybe he says, “Where are we?” but that’s when the lightning comes at us._

**Does the lightning hit you?**

_July 30: I don’t want the lightning to hit John. Maybe I step in front of him._

**Are you protecting him?**

“Do you think John Laurens might represent someone else in your dream?” Dr. Rush asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve said more than once that you don’t know why you’re dreaming about John Laurens. Sometimes in dreams our brains find a ‘stand-in.’ Could there be somebody else that you want to protect, someone that you are afraid will be hurt?”

_No, it’s John. I’d protect John with my life._

Alex shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t even really understand what you mean.”

Dr. Rush looked him directly in the eye. “Don’t pretend to be stupid, Alex.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Alex sat up straight, his fists clenched.

“You’re an intelligent, well-educated guy. You sure as hell know what symbolism is. You tell me you dream about protecting someone, literally about stepping in front of him, willing to be struck by lightning in his place. Then you tell me that you don’t know why you’re dreaming about John Laurens, because he’s just a casual friend.

Now, I’m a pretty intelligent, well-educated guy myself, and I’m not buying your bullshit. I see two possibilities here: either you really are dreaming about John Laurens, in which case he’s more significant in your life than you’ve led me to believe, or that the dream figure of John Laurens represents someone else that you are desperately afraid of hurting.”

“Like who?” Alex asked, still tense, glaring at the doctor.

Dr. Rush shook his head ruefully, half smiling, and Alex got even angrier.

“Your wife, maybe?” the doctor asked gently. “Are you afraid of hurting your wife?”

Alex had been so focused on keeping John out of the conversation that he hadn’t thought about anyone else. Even though Dr. Rush’s question should have been obvious, it blindsided him. “I can’t … I didn’t …” he floundered, and then, “I don’t want to hurt Eliza.” As he said it, he realized how true it was. He loved Eliza. He loved his son. That didn’t mean he didn’t still love John, but he’d barely spoken to Eliza in months. Most other women would have left by now. He stopped to think what his life would be like without Eliza and Philip in it, and he felt terrified that it was too late.

The doctor had given him a few minutes to process things and was waiting patiently. Alex looked up, his anger gone. “I need to tell Eliza,” he said.

Dr. Rush nodded. “I think that would be a good idea.” He looked down at his notes again. “Are you a Harry Potter fan?”

Alex stared at him. What kind of irrelevant question was that? “Yeah, sure. I mean, isn’t pretty much everybody my age a Harry Potter fan?”

“Maybe,” the doctor acknowledged. “Sometimes our brains use references from books or movies to tell us something.”

“Okay.”

“I think it might be worthwhile for you to consider how closely your dream resembles Cedric Diggory’s death in _The Goblet of Fire_.”

For a brief second Alex looked stunned, and then he burst into tears.

* * * * *

John had gotten pretty good at left-handed typing, so he got the bills all paid quickly. There was enough money for him and Francie to live on. He and Patty had both gotten life insurance when Francie was born, so there was that, plus he had his military disability payment, and some money he’d inherited from his father. They weren’t rich, but having to earn a living wasn’t an urgent priority. A good thing, he thought, but he was doing more painting now, and he’d have to think about what he was going to do with it.

He wasn’t unhappy, then, when he opened his email and found a message from Jerry Theus, the gallery owner who had shown his work previously. John read it half anxiously, half hopefully. When he finished, he deleted it and stared at the computer screen for a while. Then he went into his trash folder and moved the letter back to his inbox. He wrote a mostly-true reply saying that he’d be glad to come to the gallery to talk and gave Jerry a choice of convenient times. Jerry responded within five minutes, a fact that made John uneasy, but the appointment was made.

Jerry Theus looked more like a high school football coach than an artist and, as a matter of fact, his own artistic career hadn’t been terribly successful. While trying to make his way into the art world, though, he had learned a great deal about marketing and promoting artists and their work, and he now had one of the most successful galleries in the state. John had had two shows there already, the first when he was still in college, the second right before he left for Afghanistan.

Jerry met John at the door of the gallery, clapped him on the shoulder, and stuck out his right hand, which John grasped a little awkwardly with his left.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Jerry apologized. “I knew, I just …”

John smiled and brushed it off. “Forget it. Happens all the time.”

Jerry shook his head, obviously embarrassed, and said to his assistant, “We’ll be in the back. Don’t call me unless it’s urgent.” He guided John down a short hallway to his office. “Coffee?” he asked. “One sugar and extra milk, right?”

“Right,” John said, impressed with Jerry’s ability remember personal details. It was good business, although he didn’t doubt that Jerry genuinely liked people.

They settled into the comfortable leather chairs, and Jerry asked, “How are you doing, John? I mean really?”

“I’m okay – not great, you know, but okay.”

“I can’t imagine. You must have felt like God had it in for you.”

John smiled. “The thought did cross my mind.”

“And your little girl?’

John’s smile broadened. “She’s amazing. She goes to preschool and then comes home and bosses me around.”

“How about your sister? Is she still with you?”

“No, she got her own place a couple of months ago. She pretty much saved my life – or at least my sanity – for the first year, but with Francie in preschool now, I’m good.” It had been time for Martha to get her own life back. They still saw each other at least once a week and texted a lot, but he and Francie had their routine now, and they were okay.

Jerry gave him a grin. “I see you’ve let your hair grow out again.” When he and John had first met, John had looked like the typical art student, shoulder-length hair, sandals, and paint-stained tee shirts included. The Army had put an end to that, but as soon as he’d been discharged, John had stopped cutting his hair. It was brushing his shoulders again, in the angelic golden-brown ringlets that Jerry remembered.

John shrugged. “Well, if I’m an artist, I have to look the part.”

Jerry’s face lit up at that. “I’m glad to hear you say it, John. I know your right hand was badly hurt, so I wasn’t sure …” He stopped, remember the awkward half-handshake.

“I’ve had a lot of physical therapy, and I’ve relearned a lot. I’m working with my left hand now …”

“Do you have anything with you?”

“I left it in the car,” John told him. “Didn’t want to presume …”

“Get the hell out there and bring it in,” Jerry told him eagerly. “Let’s take a look.”

It was all pen-and-ink work, some of it with water color details. There were several portraits of Francie, all casual, one that John particularly liked of her looking at a book; there was a nice sketch of Martha sitting on the patio, one that he’d done of Chris and a few of Martha’s friends. He’d also, somewhat against his better judgment, redone three from the Army: the colonel at his desk, Gil reading, and Alex, just Alex looking at him.

Jerry went through them all, spreading them out on his desk, picking them up one at a time to examine them closely, rearranging them into groups. He looked up at John. “You did all these left-handed?”

“Yeah.” John thought he was pretty good at evaluating his own work, and he didn’t see much difference anymore between what he had done with his right hand and what he did now. Still, he knew Jerry had a good eye and might even see things he himself would miss. He waited, biting his lip, as Jerry went through everything again. When Jerry pulled out the three from Afghanistan and put them aside, his first reaction was relief. He didn’t really want to relive that time.

But when he was done, Jerry held up those three pictures. “You have any more like these?”

“Yeah,” John nodded. “Quite a few.”

Jerry picked up the drawing of Martha on the patio, which had been highlighted with watercolors. “The military ones, could you do those in pen and ink, then add some color like you’ve done here?”

An idea began to form in John’s mind. He nodded. “I could do that.”

“Have you got enough studies to do ten or twelve?”

“Yeah.”

“All right. You do them and bring them in, and we’ll do a show.” This time, he held out his left hand, and they shook on it.

* * * * *

Eliza had made macaroni and cheese. It was Philip’s favorite, and he liked to feed himself, picking up each piece of macaroni with delight. The truth was, she hardly ever cooked. Alex was rarely home for dinner, and she’d gotten tired of throwing away food. Now the freezer was stocked with prepared meals, and they just heated them in the microwave. Tonight, though, she’d made real homemade macaroni and cheese, and she and Philip sat at the table enjoying it. It was so unusual for Alex to be home this early that she jumped when she heard the door open. She was even more surprised when he came into the kitchen.

“Hi,” he said, his voice subdued. He looked exhausted. More than exhausted, haggard. His eyes were shadowed with dark circles that looked like bruises.

She stood up and went to him, held out her hands. “Alex? Are you okay?”

He shook his head, but grabbed her hands, holding on tight.

“What happened?” she whispered, fear clutching at her. Had there been an accident? Was somebody she loved hurt? Worse?

He let go of her hand and put his hand against her cheek. “I forgot to tell you,” he said softly, his eyes on hers.

“Forgot to tell me what?”

“How much I love you.” Tears filled his eyes. “All this time, I couldn’t … I couldn’t see things clearly, and I just pulled away. I’m so sorry.” He put his arms around her and held her. “I never stopped loving you. I always loved you.”

She leaned into his shoulder, crying, as he stroked her hair the way he used to. She didn’t understand what had happened, but she was grateful, grateful to have him back.

Philip began banging on his high chair tray and interrupted them.

“I think he wants more,” Eliza smiled, putting another spoonful on the tray.

“You made homemade mac and cheese?” Alex asked. “Is there enough for me?”

“Of course,” she said. “There’s always enough for you.”

He pulled her hand up to kiss it, then sat down and had dinner with them. It was the first time in – how long? Eliza couldn’t remember. They couldn’t talk much, really, with Philip needing attention, but throughout the meal, Alex looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time in months. It was the way he might have looked at her when he returned from Afghanistan, but he hadn’t, and as happy as she was to see him like this, there were still a million unanswered questions.

He said he’d clean up the kitchen while she got Philip bathed and in bed, so she went upstairs, feeling cautiously optimistic. Maybe things were going to be all right. She had talked to Peggy a lot recently, and she and Gil seemed to be finding their way. Peggy had come to appreciate his honesty. He could easily never have mentioned his previous infidelity to her, but he said he didn’t want to start their relationship with secrets. She wondered, as she had when Peggy first told her about it, if Alex had a similar secret. They’d been engaged, not married, but she had to consider the possibility that Alex too had had a relationship with someone else. She’d thought about it a lot, realizing she could never really understand what deployment had been like. If you lived in the constant knowledge that death could strike at any moment, surely you would be driven to find some sort of comfort. Part of her hoped that Alex, like Gil, would confess if he had anything to confess; part of her hoped he’d never mention it.

Philip was asleep and she had taken a shower before Alex came upstairs. She had begun to wonder if he was going to spend hours in his office again as he had been doing, but he seemed to have taken just enough time to clean up the kitchen and to review some paperwork. He lay down next to her in the bed and turned on his side to face her.

She reached out and brushed back a lock of dark hair that had fallen onto his forehead. “Do you want to talk to me?” she asked softly.

He smiled but looked a little anxious. “A little bit at a time, maybe? Is that okay?”

“Of course.”

“Do you remember when we had that Harry Potter weekend and I cried over Cedric Diggory’s death?”

“Um … yes,” she responded, unable to see where this might be going.

“Well, it seems … the nightmares I was having … I was using that as what Dr. Rush called a framework.”

“I don’t understand.”

“My dream was actually a lot like that scene – running, getting tangled in branches, being in a graveyard, and then there was a flash of light.”

“Like the light of the Avada Kedavra curse that killed Cedric?” Eliza asked.

“Exactly. Crazy, right?”

“Well … weird, for sure. It’s a really scary scene, and I understand that it might give you bad dreams, but it still doesn’t really make sense to me.”

“No, it doesn’t. It’s not exactly that I was dreaming about the movie. I was dreaming about other things, but my brain took something it knew – the scene of Cedric Diggory’s death – and it put my own scared feelings into it.”

She thought about it, frowning. “Okay, I think I see what you mean.”

He put his arm around her and said “C’mere” in the soft voice that she had never been able to resist. She moved closer to him. He kissed her cheek, and then her lips, and then her neck, and she sighed. He came back to her mouth, soft and gentle until her lips parted for him. After a little while, he pulled back to look at her, all dark eyes and tangled hair. “There’s a lot I want to talk to you about, babe, but not now. I don’t want to talk anymore now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeremiah Theus was a successful portrait painter in Charleston, South Carolina in the 18th century. He once painted a portrait of Eleanor Ball, John Laurens's mother.  
For the record, I know nothing about dreams and how they might relate to actual psychological issues. I made all that stuff up.  
I'm glad John is getting back to his artwork, and Alex came home to be with his wife and son. Everything must be fine now, right? Right?  
Thanks for reading, and especially for kudos and comments. I love hearing from readers.


	3. I See It Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex is doing better, but not as well as he thinks. John is lonely. Eliza confides in Peggy and Gil. John gets a phone call

Alex was still seeing Dr. Rush once a week. The doctor had cautioned him not to get too optimistic because of one breakthrough.

“We’re not finished, Alex,” he said. “The memories that cause PTSD don’t magically disappear with one moment of insight.”

“But I realize now how much I was neglecting my family. I was focused on myself, and I practically ignored them. It’s so much better now.”

“And that’s great,” Dr. Rush nodded, “but I want you to continue with the dream journal for a while.”

“But why?”

“There may be more to the story, Alex.”

“I don’t think so.”

Dr. Rush raised an eyebrow. “Humor me. Keep the journal.”

Alex rolled his eyes and gave a dramatic sigh. “_Fine._”

Eliza felt as if Alex had returned to her from a long journey. He smiled. He came home after work and talked to her. He began to play with Philip and sometimes gave him his bath. She would sit in the bedroom listening to Alex make motorboat noises as Philip shrieked with glee. Her heart was overflowing.

He told her that Dr. Rush wanted him to continue with the dream journal until they were sure everything was all right, and that made sense to her. It was like getting well from a long illness; it took time. She took a surreptitious look at the journal after a week and found that Alex’s dreams had changed.

_August 17: On a beach with Eliza and her sister Angelica and Angelica’s husband. I can hear the seagulls. I want to build a sand castle, but nobody else does._

**Sounds like only a minor conflict.**

_August 23: I’m at work and Aaron brings in donuts, but then Peggy is there and I give her my donut, then something about the printer?_

(Dr. Rush didn’t even comment on that one)

_August 27: The beach again, and it’s really hot out, and the sand is stuck in my shoes. I can’t get it out. That’s all I remember._

**Are you sure it’s the beach?**

Eliza smiled and put the journal back on the night stand. Alex was doing so well. They had dinner with Peggy and Gil and when Alex excused himself to the rest room, Eliza told them how much better everything was.

Peggy smiled at her. “It’s easy to see, Eliza. He looks like himself again, and the way he looks at you – it’s like when you were first dating. So cute.”

Gil was more reserved. “I’m glad he’s doing well.”

Eliza felt a little annoyed at Gil’s lack of enthusiasm. _Everything’s changed,_ she wanted to tell him. _It’s like we got our life back._

It lasted five weeks.

One rainy night in September, Eliza woke up around two in the morning to find Alex gone. His getting out of bed must have awakened her. She waited a few minutes, assuming, or maybe hoping, that he had gone to the bathroom, but the upstairs was silent. She got up and made her way silently down the stairs. Alex was in the kitchen, all the lights off, staring out the window at the rain.

“Alex,” she called softly.

He turned around, and she could see the pain in his face. This time, at least he didn’t tell her to go away. He crossed the room to her and held out his hands. She took them and found them ice-cold. “I thought it was over,” he whispered.

* * * * *

John was working from the sketches that he had made in Afghanistan, supplementing them with photos to be sure he got the details right. He’d taken a fair number of pictures on his phone in Helmand Province, quite a few in Kandahar, and he was using some of them to inspire backgrounds in the drawings he was doing for Jerry. He had had been working on the sketch of Sam, the guy from Boston who didn’t make it home, and added detail to the wall behind him. Now it could be seen to be the front of a shop. So far, it was still all in black and white, but he would paint the shop door a vivid turquoise blue, the way it was in the photo. He put his pen down, looked at it critically, and nodded. He was pleased with it so far.

His phone alarm went off, reminding him it was time to pick up Francie. One day he’d gotten so caught up in his work that he’d been fifteen minutes late picking her up. She’d been scared and he’d been mortified. Now he set the alarm so that would never happen again. He stood up and stretched, rolled his shoulders, and reminded himself that he needed to get some exercise. He had thought about going to a gym, but he was still self-conscious about explaining his useless right arm. Maybe he should just start running again. It was still hot in September, but if he ran early, it wouldn’t be too bad. At least he’d get plenty of exercise tomorrow. It would be Saturday, and he’d promised Francie a visit to the park in the morning, followed by lunch with Martha. He knew he’d spend the morning pushing his daughter on the swings, climbing on the wooden castle, and chasing her around just for fun.

Martha met them in the park and they walked to a nearby café for lunch, Francie skipping along between them. She chattered excitedly to her aunt about the squirrels they had seen, and lunch gave John and Martha time to catch up. He had already texted her about the gallery show, and he talked about the details of the work. She was, as always, pleased and encouraging to hear about it.

John smiled at her. “Have I ever thanked you?”

“Only about a million times,” Martha laughed.

“You saved my life.”

“I think that’s an exaggeration.”

John shrugged. “Okay, you kept me from losing my mind.”

“Well, maybe …” Martha ate some of her salad and then looked up. “Do you ever think about, you know, getting back into the social scene?”

“You mean dating?” John asked. “Oh, hell, no.” He’d never told Martha about Alex. He’d never told anyone.

“Why not? It’s been more than two years since you lost Patty, and you’re young, John.” Trust his little sister not to let go of a topic. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”

He knew that. “Yeah, maybe in a while.” He took a sip of his iced tea and tried to change the subject. “What about you? Have you dated anybody since … what was his name? Oh, yeah, Robert-don’t-call-me-Bob.”

“Not everybody likes nicknames,” Martha pointed out, trying not to laugh. “And as a matter of fact, I have been sort of seeing somebody. His name’s David.”

“Yeah?” John was interested. “Okay to call him Dave?”

“It’s fine. You’re never going to let me forget Robert, are you?”

“Nope. So what does this Dave do?”

“Why do you ask? We’re not at the point where my big brother should be asking him about his prospects. Anyway, he teaches anthropology at the College of Charleston.”

John was suitably impressed. “Oh, okay. Did you google him, check for criminal record, sex-offender list, all that stuff?”

“Just shut up.”

“Aunt Martha, we’re not supposed to say that,” Francie broke in.

“You’re right, Francie, I’m sorry,” Martha apologized, glaring daggers at John.

They left the restaurant still laughing about it, but before they separated to go to their cars, Martha put her hand on John’s arm. “Think about it, John. I don’t want you to be lonely.”

He gave her an affectionate kiss on the forehead. “I’ll think about it.” He knew what she was trying to tell him. At some point, whether it was David or someone else, Martha would fall in love, get married, and have a family of her own. Of course she would. She was cute and funny and smart and there were probably guys lined up around the block wanting to date her. She wouldn’t always be available to keep him company. Even Francie would grow up and have a life. Not for a while yet, John told himself.

He hadn’t told Martha that he had had occasional hook-ups via Grindr or Tinder. He never gave his full name and always met the other person in a public place and used a hotel room. He only did it when he was feeling desperate. He wasn’t the least bit interested in any of his partners as people, but it was at least a little better than jerking off. Those encounters were nothing like dating. He couldn’t contemplate the idea of dating without thinking of Alex, and thinking of Alex reminded him mercilessly that Alex could never be his.

* * * * *

_September 10: This time the lightning strikes John, and I can’t save him. I can’t save him and he’s dead._

**That sounds pretty terrifying. **

_September 16: John won’t wake up. I need to tell him something, but he won’t wake up._

**Is there something that you need to tell John?**

_September 24: The graveyard is cold, and I see the lightning coming. I get in front of John, but it hits him anyway._

**If this is about John, did you fail him in some way? If it’s not about John, is there someone else that you feel you’ve failed?**

_September 28: I can’t save John. I’ve failed him. I’ve failed Eliza too._

**Alex, just record the dreams. We’ll talk about everything else in my office.**

_October 3: The graveyard is cold and foggy. I say, “I’ve been here before.” John says, “Where are we?” Before I can tell him, this great bolt of lightning comes at us. I jump in front of John, but somehow the lightning doesn’t hit me, it hits John._

**Does John push you out of the way?**

Eliza closed the journal, feeling guiltier than ever. Alex was doing his best, and at least now he knew that she was on his side, no matter what. He no longer hid himself in his work and avoided talking to her, but even so, he was still suffering. She’d asked him about John, but she always got the same answer: John was a friend, a good friend. They’d spent a lot of time together in Afghanistan, but John had been wounded and evacuated out. They talked on the phone after they both were back home, so there was no unfinished business. He didn’t think talking to John now would help.

Eliza thought it might, but that was because she was reading the dream journal. No matter what Alex said, it was clear to her that there was something he still needed to talk to John about. Maybe he just needed to see him and be sure he was all right. Whatever it was, though, she was determined to help Alex.

Peggy had moved into Gil’s apartment, and Eliza went to see them there. The first thing she had to do was confess.

“I read Alex’s dream journal.”

Peggy nodded. She wasn’t surprised. “What did you learn?”

Eliza gave them a summary of the dreams.

“Does Alex know you’ve read it?” Gil asked.

“No.” Eliza felt her cheeks grow hot. She really was ashamed of herself, but now she couldn’t stop reading.

Gil got up and walked to the window, his eyes on the bright orange leaves of the maple tree in the courtyard.

Peggy put her hand on Eliza’s. “He probably knows you’re reading it. He keeps leaving it right out where you can see it.”

“Because he trusts her,” Gil said, turning back to face them. “He would only hide it if he didn’t trust her.”

Peggy bit her lip and looked down.

Eliza met Gil’s eyes. “I guess he was wrong, then.”

Gil slammed his fist into the wall. “_Jesus,_ Eliza, what were you thinking?” _And how had this become his to deal with?_

Eliza had gone pale now. “I thought I could help. I thought if I understood what his nightmares were about, I could help him.” She would never tell him that Peggy had suggested she read the journal.

“And have you helped him?” Gil asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe. At least I understand a little bit about why the dreams are so scary.”

Gil was rubbing his right hand with his left. Hitting the wall had been stupid, but he did not want to talk about any of this with Eliza. If she asked him anything about Alex’s relationship with John, he would just lie. _Fair enough_, he jeered at himself. _Criticize Eliza for reading Alex’s journal, and then lie to her._

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Peggy asked, and Gil wished she had stayed silent.

“I don’t know.” Eliza hesitated. “I think I want to talk to John Laurens.”

_“Nom de Dieu!”_ Gil swore, reverting to his native French.

Peggy knew that wasn’t a good sign. “You should tell Alex,” she said to Eliza.

Eliza shook her head. “Then I’d have to admit I’d been reading his journal.”

“That is exactly what you should do,” Gil told her. “Tell Alex the truth, and let him decide. If he wanted to talk to John, all he’d have to do is pick up the phone. If he wanted you to talk to John, same thing. What do you think you’re going to find out from John that Alex doesn’t already know – or couldn’t find out in one simple phone call if it really mattered to him?”

“There’s more to it,” Eliza said stubbornly. “It seems like Alex may feel that he let John down somehow. Maybe Alex is embarrassed to talk to John about it.”

Peggy looked up at Gil. “That doesn’t seem unreasonable.”

Gil threw up his hands and went back to the window.

Eliza shot an uneasy glance in Gil’s direction and then spoke to Peggy. “I want to invite John for a visit. I think that would be better than Alex trying to talk to him on the phone. If John’s here for a few days or a week, they’ll have a chance to get to know each other again and relax. It’s been more than two years since they saw each other.”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea, really,” Peggy said. “Anyway, it can’t hurt anything. They’re old friends, and they’d probably like to see each other.”

Gil came back from the window and sat on the floor in front of Eliza. “Are you saying you want to surprise Alex? You want to invite John without telling him?”

Eliza nodded. “Every time I suggest he get in touch with John, he blows it off. He can’t do that if John’s standing there in front of him.”

Gil had some disquieting thoughts about what might happen if John showed up unexpectedly. He knew Alex would be furious with him for not telling him, and he, in turn, was angry with Eliza for talking about her plan with him and Peggy. “Don’t, Eliza.” he said, doing his best to keep his voice level. “At least talk to Alex first about it.”

* * * * *

“Hello, John? John, it’s Eliza. Eliza Hamilton.”

John felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. “Hi. Hello.” There were a few seconds of silence, and then with barely-controlled panic in his voice, he asked, “Did something happen? Is Alex all right?”

This was harder than Eliza had thought it would be. No contact for two years, and then she calls him out of the blue. No wonder he sounded worried. “Yes. No. I mean, nothing happened, but he’s not exactly all right.”

John was clutching his phone so tight that his knuckles were white. “What’s wrong?”

“The doctor says it’s PTSD. It's not terrible – in fact, he’s better than he was, but the nightmares won’t stop.”

“Nightmares?”

“Do you have them too? Gil does.”

Not exactly. John’s dreams were of Alex in his arms, Alex wrapped around him, over him, under him, in him. Torturous sure, but never nightmares. John went to sleep every night hoping for them.

“No,” he said.

“I’m sorry, I should have asked, how are you? How’s your hand?”

Damned awkward question. He always answered it the same way. “Okay. I manage.”

“And your little girl?”

“She’s fine. She’s in preschool.”

He wondered why in the world Eliza was calling.

_I should have rehearsed what I was going to say,_ Eliza thought. She went on anyway, hesitant and fumbling. “John, I know this sounds weird, but some of Alex’s dreams are about you.”

That was a punch to the gut. “Alex has nightmares about me?”

“No, no, not like that,” Eliza hastened to assure him. “I’m so sorry, I’m making a mess of this.”

John realized she was near tears. “Take your time,” he said gently.

Eliza was touched by the kindness in his voice. “Thank you. You’re in Alex’s dreams,” she went on, “but not in any bad way. It seems like in the dream, Alex is trying to protect you, but he can’t.”

_Oh. Yeah, that sounds like Alex. He thinks he’s responsible for everybody and everything_. “What does Alex think that means?”

Eliza’s voice sounded strained. “He … we haven’t talked about it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“His doctor has had him keep a dream journal, and then the doctor writes comments in it, and … I … I read it.”

_Oh, Eliza, you must love him the way I do._ “Ah, I see. I can’t say I blame you. I might have done the same thing if I was worried about somebody I loved.” _I’m worried about somebody I love._

“Really? You don’t know how much it means to hear you say that. Gil pretty much thinks I’m a criminal.”

“Gil would,” John snorted, and that made Eliza laugh. “Don’t pay any attention to Gil.”

“I have to. He’s dating my sister.”

“Really? That must be … interesting.”

Eliza laughed again, and John liked the sound of her laugh. “It’s okay,” she said. “Anyway, I had this idea …” She stopped.

“What idea?”

“Now that I’m actually talking to you, it seems pretty crazy.”

“Tell me anyway,” he said, and she thought, _He has a nice voice._

“I thought if maybe you could come for a visit, and see Alex, talk to him, maybe you could help him figure this out. You should come anyway, even if you don’t want to talk about Alex’s PTSD and his dreams, just because you’re Alex’s friend. Bring your little girl. Our Philip is a year and a half old now, maybe they could play.”

_Oh, God._ He could see Alex, and there would be nothing anyone could say against it, if Alex’s wife invited him. He could be in the same room with him, breathe the same air, see him smile. He could meet Alex’s son. He wouldn’t stay long, just a few days, and then he’d go back to Charleston. _Just a few days,_ _God,_ he bargained. _That will be enough._

And so John Laurens convinced himself that he could do the one thing that he had always known he could never do — be in a room with Alex Hamilton and keep his hands off him.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Martha Laurens married David Ramsay. He was a doctor and a historian, so I thought he could be an anthropologist.
> 
> What is going to happen when John comes to New York?
> 
> Thanks for reading, and thanks for kudos and comments. I love hearing from you!


	4. You Should Have Told Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody tells Alex that John is coming to visit. John arrives.

John went running every day as soon as he dropped Francie off at preschool. He’d run a couple of miles, go home, get a shower, and settle in to work. His gallery show was tentatively scheduled for early January, and he was satisfied with his progress on the pictures. He was adding only one color to each black and white drawing, focusing the viewer’s attention on some particular aspect. He was also naming each of the portraits, choosing ambiguous titles that he hoped would intrigue those who attended the show. The one of Sam was called _No Exit_, a way of saying that he never got to leave. The highlighted door emphasized that theme. That one was done now, and he was working on the one of the Colonel sitting at his desk. It would be called _Responsible_, and there would be splashes of red across the desk and the floor, like spattered blood. He wasn’t trying to say that the Colonel was responsible for the bloodshed, but that he felt responsible. Some people would no doubt misunderstand, but he’d learned long ago not to argue with those who thought they knew his work better than he did. He wanted to finish this one before he left for New York.

Every time he thought about New York and Alex, his heart started beating faster. He and Francie were flying out in ten days. New York would be cold already, even in early November, so he had bought Francie a heavy jacket and a pair of mittens. She was entranced by the mittens and kept wanting to wear them to school even though temperatures in Charleston remained in the seventies. He’d finally put them in her backpack to remind her that the mittens were for their trip to New York. Yesterday she’d asked him if New York was near the North Pole where Santa lived. He laughed, thinking about it, grateful for her, and grateful that Eliza had included Francie in the invitation. Having her with him would help anchor him to reality. _Alex is married to Eliza, and she loves him very much, _he told himself. _I’m going to see him as a friend, maybe a friend who can help him deal with his PTSD, but in any case, just a friend. I can still love him – well, of course I still love him – but I don’t have to act on it. _

They were going to be there for five days, no longer. John had explained to Eliza that he couldn’t leave his work too long, with the show scheduled for January. He’d also talked to her a little about her determination not to tell Alex he was coming. That didn’t seem to him like a good idea.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I don’t think Alex likes surprises.”

“You’re right, he doesn’t,” Eliza had agreed, “but if I tell him, he’ll say I shouldn’t have asked you to come.”

“Eliza, if he doesn’t want to see me …”

“It’s not that. I am a hundred percent sure it’s not that. You know Alex – he wants everybody to think he can handle everything by himself.”

Well, she was right about that.

“Trust me, John,” she went on. “He’ll be thrilled to see you, and you’ll have plenty of time to talk.”

Eliza had learned from Theo that the law office would be closing at noon on the first Friday in November for some renovations. Everybody would work from home for a few days, and the office would reopen on the following Wednesday. That’s when John was coming to visit. She’d taken time off from work too, although she hadn’t told Alex. Every once in a while, she wondered if she was doing the right thing, but it might help Alex, and she would do anything she could for him.

* * * * *

“Maybe we should be done,” Alex said to Dr. Rush. “I’m doing better that I was. Maybe I’m just going to have nightmares sometimes. It’s not the worst thing that could happen to me.”

Ben Rush looked at him, doing his best to assess Alex’s progress. He had made progress, there was no doubt about that, and with many victims of PTSD, it wasn’t so much about being cured as it was about learning to manage symptoms. Lafayette had discharged himself at that point, and Ben hadn’t fought him on it. “I went to war, and I saw kids die,” Gil had said. “We could have saved at least half of them at Columbia Presbyterian. If I could rest easy, knowing that, I’d be heartless.” He held up the bottle of anxiety medication. “I know how this stuff works. I won’t misuse it.”

Ben had shaken his hand and watched him walk out of the office. Gil would always have scars, but they would become less painful over time. The difference between him and Alex was that Gil knew exactly what he was dreaming about and why. Alex still either didn’t understand or was pretending he didn’t understand.

“Are you satisfied with how far you’ve come?” Dr. Rush asked Alex now. “Do you feel like you have the tools to handle these dreams?”

Alex shrugged fretfully, looking like a sulky teenager. “I don’t know.”

“You know I don’t take that answer.”

“I just need to get more sleep,” Alex said, as usual addressing things indirectly. He was right about that. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he always looked like he could use a good meal. Alex denied any loss of appetite, but his clothes hung on him.

“What’s your sleep routine?”

Alex sighed. “No screens for an hour before bedtime, cool, dark room, play some soft, soothing sounds.”

“Does it help?”

“Yeah, some. I don’t do it every night, though,” he added in a burst of honesty.

Ben raised an eyebrow. “I’m not stunned to hear that.”

That drew a reluctant smile from Alex. “I’m not … I don’t like routine. I like to change things up a lot.”

“How did the Army deal with you?”

“I was JAG. The Army was so grateful to have a real lawyer enlist that they cut me a lot of slack. Doctors and lawyers get away with a lot of shit in the Army.”

“Why did you enlist, anyway? It doesn’t seem like it would appeal to you.”

“Oh, it didn’t, but getting my college loans paid did.”

Dr. Rush nodded. “They paid for my medical school too, so I understand. But even if you don’t like routine, I think you might benefit from a regular bedtime, regular meals, and regular exercise.”

“Isn’t that what all doctors say to all patients?”

“Probably, but sufficient rest, nutrition, and exercise are particularly helpful with depression.”

“I’m not depressed,” Alex told him, not for the first time. He had steadfastly refused to take any antidepressant medication, although Ben was sure it would help him.

“Okay. Let’s not have that discussion for the fiftieth time. You said earlier that you’d like to be done. Are you satisfied with how you’re feeling and how you’re interacting with people now?”

Alex flushed and looked away. “Maybe not entirely.”

“The medication would help, Alex,” Dr. Rush told him gently.

“Not yet.”

“Maybe at some future time?”

“I don’t know.”

“I know you’ve done your research. Think about it. Get a second opinion if you want.”

“All right,” Alex said, but there was nothing in the tone of his voice that indicated anything would change.

* * * * *

Gil and Herc sometimes got together for a drink after work. This time, Gil had called and had insisted that they meet soon.

“James and I were going to the movies tomorrow,” Herc protested. James was Herc’s latest boyfriend.

“Reschedule it,” Gil told him. “We need to talk.”

Now they were at a table in a neighborhood bar in Washington Heights, and Gil had just finished explaining Eliza’s plan.

“Oh, shit,” Herc said.

“Right?”

“Did you tell her it was a bad idea?”

“Of course. She said she thinks it will help Alex to talk to John.”

Herc shook his head and took a long drink. “What does Peggy think?”

“She’s agreeing with Eliza, but she doesn’t know about Alex and John.”

“You haven’t told her?”

Gil gave him a long disapproving glare. “Why would I do that?”

“I just thought …”

Gil continued glaring. “How would that be helpful to anyone?”

“Well, Peggy might tell Eliza, and then Eliza could come up with an excuse to cancel John’s visit.”

“So you think I’m the kind of person who won’t be honest myself but will manipulate my girlfriend, who is _in no way_ involved with this mess, into telling her sister something that will be devastating to her?”

Herc thought about it. “It sounds a lot worse when you put it that way.”

Gil huffed and took a drink. “But you think Eliza should be told?”

“I don’t know.” Herc looked away, remembering. “You know, it wasn’t just a thing for Alex and John. They let their emotions get involved.”

“They fell in love,” Gil corrected him. “Do you think one of us should tell Eliza that her Alex fell in love with somebody else?”

“Wait, one of _us?_”

“Who else is there?”

“Could you do it?” Herc asked. “My God, you know what Eliza is like, how kind and trusting she is. It would break her heart.”

“Yeah.” Gil gulped down the rest of his drink. “That’s why I haven’t told her.”

Herc put both hands on the table. “Look, the one who should tell Eliza is Alex. It’s no wonder he’s having nightmares. We all saw things we can’t forget, but Alex has more to deal with. I don’t know if he’s trying to forget John or to hang on to his memories, but either way, it’s got to be complicating his PTSD.”

Gil stared at him. “Do you know, I never thought of it that way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe Alex’s PTSD is more about what he wants to remember than what he wants to forget.”

* * * * *

John had added the first touches of red to the picture of the Colonel. The sharp contrast against the black was startling, as he meant it to be. He put it aside to dry, and looked at the preliminary pencil sketches for the next one. This was to be the one of Alex. He’d almost decided not to include it, but some of his best work was of Alex, so why not? It would be one of Alex smiling, looking up from the winning hand of cards on the table. The cards themselves were sketched roughly and the other players barely suggested with a few pen strokes. It was all about Alex’s smile, and the background would be washed with golden yellow. The title was _Desert Sun_; in those months in the desert, Alex had been like the sun to him, bringing him warmth and light and life itself. He wanted anyone who saw the drawing to be as captivated by Alex’s smile as he had been. He had just enough time to rough out the pencil sketch before he finished packing. _Five days, _he reminded himself. _I’ll only be away for five days, and then I’ll be back to work on this._

Maybe he’d get a chance to do another sketch or two of Alex while he was there. Maybe he could even do one of Eliza as a way to thank her. He wanted to express his gratitude to her, but it was hard to know how to do it tactfully. He’d do one of Philip instead, he decided. She’d probably rather have that anyway. He wondered if Philip looked like Alex. It occurred to him that he had never seen a picture of Philip. Alex had seen some of Francie when they were in Afghanistan, although she was only a baby then, but Alex had never sent him a picture of Philip. He knew Alex had made a conscious decision to move on and be the husband and father he should be, but he was still absolutely sure that Alex wouldn’t have stopped loving him. Alex had loved him as much as he loved Alex, and that didn’t go away. He wanted that love to be visible in the portrait he was working on.

Reluctantly, he put the work down when his phone alarm went off. Francie was so excited about her first plane trip that he knew he’d have his hands full trying to get her to sleep tonight. They both needed a good night’s sleep. Their flight left at noon, so they would arrive at JFK a little after two o’clock, pick up the rental car and drive to the Hillcrest neighborhood of Queens where Alex and Eliza lived. He estimated they’d get there at around four. Only a little more than twenty-four hours before he would see Alex again. He tried not to think of it that way. This wasn’t going to be some kind of romantic reunion. He’d meet Alex again as a friend, a friend there at his wife’s invitation to try to help Alex with some difficult issues. That’s why he was going. He could sit in a room with Alex and Eliza and the children and talk about whatever Alex wanted to talk about without touching him, without revealing his true feelings in any way.

_That will be enough. If I just see him, and know that he’s all right, that will be enough. If I know that he’s safe and happy, that’s all I want, really._

* * * * *

The New York traffic was as bad as he had feared, and it was well past four by the time he pulled up in front of the house he’d been looking for. His heart was pounding, and he took a few deep breaths before getting out of the car. _Get a grip,_ he told himself. _It’s not a date_.

He texted from the car as Eliza had requested so that Alex wouldn’t hear the doorbell, and she opened the door before he reached it.

She’d only seen pictures of him in uniform, so she wasn’t prepared for John Laurens, artist, with his shoulder-length curls and well-worn jeans. He was carrying a large duffle bag in his left hand, and Francie clung tightly to his right sleeve. _He must have taught her to do that,_ Eliza thought, _because he can’t hold her hand._ A wave of sympathy swept over her for John’s courage in the face of more bad luck than any one person should ever have. John looked up just then, and their eyes met, and she had never seen a more blindingly beautiful smile in her life.

She held the door open and gave him an awkward half hug that somehow included Francie as well as the duffle bag.

“John Laurens,” she said, a little breathlessly.

“Hello, Eliza.” He was still smiling. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thank you for coming.”

They were in the tiny foyer, and she put her finger to her lips and spoke in a whisper. “The babysitter’s here, so I’ll take Francie in to meet Philip and see the toys. Would you like to see the toys, Francie?” she asked, and Francie nodded, her curls bouncing.

Eliza put her hand gently on John’s arm and gestured toward the hall that ran straight back from the front door. “Alex is in the study,” she said. “Second door on the right. Just go in.”

John took a deep breath. “All right, if you’re sure.”

Eliza smiled and gave his arm a reassuring pat. “It’ll be fine. I’ll give you a minute, and then I’ll be there, after I show Francie where the toys are.”

Francie was even more enchanted by the baby on Delia’s lap than the assortment of toys, and after a few minutes, Eliza left them all smiling in the playroom. She didn’t hear anything as she approached Alex’s study, but the door was ajar, and she pushed it open a little farther, silently.

Oh. _Oh._ Oh, of course. How could she not have realized?

John’s good arm was tight around Alex, and Alex’s face was pressed into John’s neck, his lips tracing tiny kisses just under John’s jaw, tears running down his face. His eyes were closed, and John was facing away from her, so neither of them saw her standing there, white-faced, turned to stone.

John was murmuring something that she couldn’t quite hear, but she knew what he was saying because she herself had so often murmured things like that to Alex. _I love you I love you I love you._


	5. Where We Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza tries to deal with what she saw. Peggy plans an outing. John and Eliza talk. Alex, Eliza, John, Francie, and Philip go to the zoo. Eliza makes an early morning call to London. John eavesdrops. Alex is about to send a text when he's interrupted.

Eliza took a silent step back just as Alex spoke. “I’ve tried, John. I’ve tried so hard …”

“I know,” John whispered. “I know, my love.”

“We should … she’ll be here in a minute,” Alex said, his voice still shaky from crying.

Eliza took another step away, and then another one back into the hall. How could she have been so blind? How could she have been so _stupid? _

Did Gil know? Of course he knew. No wonder he’d told her to talk to Alex first. She was going to kill him. What about Peggy? Had Gil told Peggy? No, Peggy would have put a stop to it. Gil could have put a stop to it. Why didn’t he? She never wanted to see him again.

Who else knew? Herc. Herc would never say anything. It didn’t matter anyway. What difference did it make who else knew? She knew and Alex knew and John knew, and that was enough. She’d have to go into the room and talk to them now … and … what?

She couldn’t just walk in and confront them about it. She needed time to think. _Think, Eliza._ _What are you going to say? More important, what are you going to do? Throw John out? Throw Alex out? Leave? Wasn’t this all about trying to help Alex?_

She was too overwhelmed to try to sort it out now. She’d just walk into the study and act like she’d seen nothing. Later, when she’d had a chance to think, she’d tell them that she knew. She went into the kitchen and put on the kettle with a lot of clattering and rattling, and then she went to the study. She caught her breath when she saw that the door was now closed. She opened it and walked in, smiling.

John and Alex were seated, Alex on the sofa, John across from him on Alex’s desk chair. Alex was a little flushed, but if she hadn’t known why, she wouldn’t even have noticed.

“I’m making tea,” she said brightly. “Do you want some?”

Alex stood up. “Eliza, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise – oh, there’s the kettle. I’ll be right back.” Her hands were trembling as she poured the water into the teapot, and she stopped for a moment, breathing carefully and consciously stilling her hands. _I’ll talk to them later, after the children are in bed._

She put some cookies on a plate and added it to the tea things on the tray, then carried it all into the study, moving cautiously. Alex cleared a place on his desk, and caught her hand after she put the tray down. She turned to look at him – her Alex, her husband that she knew so well and didn’t know at all. His eyes were wide and dark and full of love. His hand was warm on hers. He leaned close, kissed her cheek softly, and said, “You are the _best_ wife any man ever had.”

That almost overset her, but she managed a smile. “I thought it might help you to talk to John about … well, about whatever you want, but about your nightmares.” She began to pour the tea. John took his plain, no milk, no sugar. It was the first new thing she learned about him.

* * * * *

“But don’t you want to see John?” Peggy asked. “He’ll only be here for a few days.”

“Yes, of course I want to see him, and I’m sure Herc does too. I’m just not sure it would be good to invite everybody over. Let’s go out to dinner instead.” There would be less chance of drama in a public place.

“All right. Do you want to go to Lantern again?”

“That’s fine. Wherever you want.”

Peggy raised an eyebrow at him. There was something not quite right. “Gil …”

“Hmm?”

“What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t.”

He sighed and put his hand to his face, rubbing his forehead. “You’re not wrong, Peggy.”

She got up and crossed the room to sit next to him. “Talk to me.”

He shook his head slowly. “It’s not mine to tell.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you ever known something about someone else that you really had no right to talk about without that person’s consent?”

She thought about it. “Yes, of course, especially with my sisters.”

“Well, then, you understand.”

She looked into his eyes, trying to figure it out. “Is it about Alex?”

“Peggy …”

“About John?”

“I can’t.”

She hadn’t really expected him to tell her anything, but at least she now knew there was something to tell. “Does Eliza know about whatever this is?”

Gil closed his eyes. “Please.”

She leaned forward and kissed him. “It’s okay, babe. We’ll all go out to dinner on Sunday, and then maybe you’ll be able to tell me what’s going on later. Or not. Do you want to call Herc, and I’ll call Eliza?”

Gil nodded and opened his eyes. “Yeah, that’s fine. I’m sorry.”

“I know. Don’t worry. It doesn’t matter.”

It mattered to somebody, though. She thought about it through her conversation with Eliza, who sounded a little distracted, but maybe that was just because she had someone she didn’t know staying in her house along with a three-year-old. House guests, even if they were the nicest people in the world, always upset the routine. She wondered what John Laurens was like. Gil had a few pictures, but with all the guys in uniforms and their hats pulled down against the desert sun, you could barely tell who was who.

* * * * *

Eliza had made a pasta casserole for dinner, trying to keep everything as simple as possible so that there would be time for all of them to talk. Now she wished she had some complicated meal to prepare, but the casserole was done, and all she had to do was put out the salad and the bread. Alex and John hadn’t stopped talking since the moment she had entered the study a couple of hours ago. They had included her in the conversation at every possible opportunity, and she had done her best to participate, although it had taken all the strength she possessed. Then Peggy had called to plan an outing on Sunday, and she had just agreed to it because there was no way on God’s green earth she could explain to her sister what was going on.

Now they were at the dinner table and Francie was trying to get John’s attention, tugging at his sleeve. “Daddy, Dad, Dad,” she repeated.

John held up a finger while he finished chewing, swallowed his pasta, and asked, “What, sweetie?”

“Daddy, I really like Philip,” she said.

John smiled. “I’m glad you do.”

“Can we get a baby brother?”

Alex snickered, and Eliza just looked down at her plate.

“Not right now,” John replied, “but maybe some other time.”

Francie thought about it. “For Christmas?”

“We’ll talk about it later.” He turned to Alex and Eliza. “Sorry. I don’t have any friends or family in Charleston with babies, so she’s really enjoying this.”

Eliza smiled at Francie. She was an adorable little girl, and she had lost her mom when she was a baby herself. “Would you like to help Philip with his bread?” Eliza asked her.

Francie nodded eagerly.

Eliza gave her a small piece of bread. “You have to break it into tiny pieces like this, and give them to Philip one at a time. Be sure he’s swallowed one before you give him the next one.” She broke off a couple of pieces to demonstrate, and Francie took the bread from her with a look of serious concentration. She scooted her chair closer to Philip’s high chair, and put a very small morsel of bread on the tray. Philip picked it up eagerly and stuffed it into his mouth, and they heard Francie say softly, “That’s right, Philip. Now chew that up, and you can have some more.”

Eliza looked up and saw that both John and Alex were teary-eyed. At the moment she hated both of them, and now she was angry at them for showing that they loved their children. She turned away from them to watch Francie breaking off another tiny bit of bread, and Philip opening his mouth like a baby bird, and it was too much for her. She got up from the table quickly, grabbed a tissue from the counter, wiped her eyes and blew her nose, and then said, “Sorry, it’s just so cute.”

As she came back to sit down, Alex caught her hand. She wanted to pull away, but she kept control of herself and even smiled at him. He looked happier than he had in months, maybe in two years, and that made her feel worse. Apparently all he’d needed was John. She hadn’t been able to help Alex through months of anguish and nightmares, but one afternoon with John Laurens, and he was just fine.

“Thank you,” he said now.

“For what?”

“For not listening to me.”

“Alex, you know I never listen to you.” There was a brittle edge to her voice.

“Well, in this case you were right. I kept saying it wouldn’t help if I talked to John, but I may have been wrong.”

John turned and spoke to Eliza, not Alex. “The infallible Alex Hamilton admits he may have been wrong. You’d better make a note of the date, because I don’t think that’s ever happened before.”

Eliza surprised herself by laughing, and she said, “I’m sure he won’t let it happen again.”

John flashed his incredible smile at her, and in that moment she knew that had she met John under other circumstances, she would have liked him very much.

“Please don’t gang up on me,” Alex told them. “That would be so unfair.”

Eliza hated the word _unfair _from Alex’s mouth. The brief flash of warmth she had felt vanished, and in a few minutes, she was taking Philip upstairs for his bath. Francie wanted to come too, just in case she needed help, but John made her stay downstairs. _At least with Francie in the room, they won’t start making out again, _she thought, and then was ashamed of herself. Francie was an innocent child who needed to be protected, not used.

Philip was tired, and he went to bed peacefully. She tucked him in and stood looking down on him in his crib, wondering if she had any right to disrupt his life. She knew that whatever faults Alex might have, he loved his son, and he had been making a real effort to be a good father. Taking Philip away from him would hurt both of them. _Not now,_ she told herself again. _I don’t have to make any decision now._

She stepped out of Philip’s room to find John in the hall, Francie in his arms.

“She needs to get to bed too,” he said.

Eliza took a few minutes to show him where the extra towels were, and then John put Francie down and told her to go get her pajamas out of the bag. When she scampered off, he put his left hand gently on Eliza’s arm. “Thank you for inviting me,” he said.

“You already thanked me,” she responded with a bright forced smile. His hand was warm on her arm. She hated him.

“Then let me thank you again. Seeing Alex … it means the world to me. What he’s been going through – it can’t have been easy for you, Eliza. I know you asked me here to see if I could help Alex, but is there anything I can do to help you? Has anyone been taking care of you through all this?”

“Stop,” she whispered, tears overflowing despite her best attempt to control them. She pulled her arm back and folded in on herself, backing up against the wall.

John’s eyes were wide, concerned, but not frightened. _Well, no, not much would frighten John Laurens,_ she thought, _after what he’s been through_. He leaned closer to her. “Will you wait here for a few minutes?” He looked into Philip’s room, illuminated now by his Paw Patrol nightlight, and saw the rocking chair. “Please? It won’t take me long to get Francie tucked in.”

She sat down in the rocking chair, wondering why she was doing what John had asked. He had no right to ask who was taking care of her. It was none of his business. Nothing about her was his business. Yet she sat there in the semi-darkness, her son asleep in his crib, waiting.

John came into the room quietly, saw her in the chair, and knelt down in front of her. He looked up at her face, and there was just enough light in the room that she could see his eyes were green-gold. She stared into them, working as hard as she could to hate him.

“If you want to talk about anything,” he said tentatively, “I’m a pretty good listener.”

Her eyes filled again, and she understood what they mean by “go to pieces” because she felt as if she was coming apart. She stretched out her hand, not wanting to touch him, but afraid she would crumble into particles if she didn’t hold on. He took it, gripped it tight.

“I saw you,” she breathed, her lips barely moving. She was shaking. “I saw you and Alex.”

A wave of compassion swept over John’s face and – of all things – he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him, so that she nearly tumbled out of the chair, and they were both kneeling on the floor, face-to-face. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. It was just … we … we lost ourselves for a few minutes.”

She pressed her lips together to hold in a sob, but it escaped anyway. “Not just then, though,” she said. “In Afghanistan?”

John didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

“He dreams about you.”

“I know.”

“Because he loves you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. But I know he loves you.”

“What did he mean when he said he’d tried?”

John looked away for a second, then back. “He’s tried …we’ve both tried not to love each other.”

“But you still do.”

“Yes. But Alex loves you very much, I promise you. He told me …”

Her tears spilled over again. It was very hard to hate John. She wasn’t sure about Alex. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll leave in the morning. It’s …”

“No!” Why did she say that?

“Eliza …”

She put up her hand, and it was only then that she realized that her other arm was around John. “Wait,” she implored. “Let me think.”

He didn’t move. He was nothing like Alex. He waited for her, silently, patiently.

“Stay,” she said finally. “Talk to Alex. Get him to talk to you. Maybe it will help.”

Very gently, he put his hand on her cheek. “What about you, Eliza?”

She gave a tiny shrug. “I already know. What difference does it make?”

* * * * *

They were all going to the zoo together, Alex and Eliza and Philip and John and Francie. Eliza was beginning to doubt her own sanity, beginning to wonder if she had dreamed that strange and fragmented conversation in Philip’s room. She couldn’t have, she knew, but what had she been thinking? Could she say now, “You were right, John; you should go”?

No, she couldn’t. She didn’t want to. She didn’t know why she didn’t want to.

They got up, and Alex made pancakes. He hadn’t done that in ages. He made tiny ones for Francie and Philip and by the time they finished breakfast, they were all laughing, and the children were sticky with syrup and had to be washed from head to toe. As a result, they were late getting started, but it didn’t seem to matter. Francie was excited to see a real tiger, “Like Daniel Tiger, only bigger,” she said. Philip was laughing out loud at the funny faces Francie kept making at him, and Alex, Eliza, and John were … talking. _Just talking like normal people_, Eliza thought in bewilderment. _Like friends_.

It was chilly, but not really cold, a perfect day for the zoo, and they found the tigers first. Francie was astonished at how big they actually were, and she asked question after question about tigers that Alex was delighted to answer, googling rapidly on his phone when she got ahead of him.

“There’s nothing Alex likes better than being an expert,” John remarked, and Alex stuck his tongue out childishly.

“We’re not supposed to do that,” Francie told him, and John couldn’t help laughing.

Alex apologized politely, and told John how intelligent his daughter was. “I know,” John responded equitably. “You’re not surprised, are you?”

Alex blinked a couple of times, and then said, “No, of course not,” more forcefully than he needed to.

John looked at Eliza. “Does Alex still always think he’s the smartest in the room?”

She nodded. “Every time. Every room.”

Alex looked so outraged that she started to giggle, and John said to her quietly so that Francie couldn’t hear, “Alex needs to have someone around who will call him on his bullshit.”

“I’ve never been very good at that,” Eliza admitted.

“I am,” John told her. “I’ll handle that job.”

“I’m right here!” Alex reminded him.

_John knows how to deal with Alex. He’s really better at it than I am. And he loves him. Anybody could see that. But he doesn’t want to take Alex away from me._ Even as the thoughts ran through her mind, she realized the fallacy of someone “taking someone away,” as if human beings were inanimate objects. Except for cases of actual kidnapping, people came and went of their own accord. Alex could have gone to South Carolina to be with John any time in the past couple of years, and he hadn’t. That had to mean something.

On the way home, Alex, who was driving, kept turning around to talk to John, and Eliza had to remind him to keep his eyes on the road. “Get your eyes off John” was what she really wanted to say. She should tell him that she had seen them, the way she had told John, but she knew Alex’s reaction would be different. Alex would cry and then alternate between profound apology and relentless justification, and she just didn’t have the emotional strength to deal with it. Not yet, anyway.

They ordered pizza for dinner, and Francie entertained Philip by making all the animal noises she knew for him. By the time they finished the pizza, she had taught him to roar like a tiger, to everyone’s delight, especially his. He kept roaring until it was bedtime, and when Eliza picked him up to take him upstairs, he held out his arms to Francie for a hug and a kiss.

She danced around, beaming with joy, “He really likes me, Daddy!”

It would be easy to just relax into it. They all got along well, and the children were having a wonderful time. If only there wasn’t that little problem of Alex and John having been lovers in Afghanistan and still being in love with each other. Would that ever change? She could demand that Alex never see John, but she couldn’t demand that he not love him. She wished she could talk to someone about it.

She got up at four o’clock in the morning and went downstairs as quietly as she could. Angelica would hate being awakened early on a Sunday morning, but she’d understand once Eliza explained.

“How did you not say anything when you walked in on them?” Angelica asked, frustration evident in her voice.

“I didn’t exactly walk in, I was just at the door. And I guess I was just stunned.”

“It would have been better to call them out right away.”

“Maybe it would have, but I didn’t, and I can’t change that now.”

“But you told John you’d seen them?’

“Yes.”

“But not Alex?”

“Not yet.”

“Why would you tell John first?” Angelica demanded.

“He’s easier to talk to,” Eliza said, realizing it was true only as the words slipped out of her mouth.

Angelica was stunned. “What the hell, Eliza? You’ve known John Laurens for twenty-four hours, and it’s easier to talk to him than to your own husband?”

“He’s … he’s a good guy, Ange. He’s very … kind.”

“Right.” Eliza could visualize the eye-roll.

“No, really, he is. He’s not trying to convince Alex to go back to Charleston with him or anything like that.”

“That you know of,” Angelica commented darkly.

“He’s not. And I think that things happen to people in war that we can’t really understand.”

Angelica sighed. “I’m sure that’s true, and maybe if it had been just a thing they had while they were in Afghanistan, it would be different, but apparently this is still going on.”

“Do you think you can fall out of love with somebody just by trying?” Eliza asked her, not really expecting an answer.

There was a pause. “I don’t know. Maybe not.”

“I don’t know what to do, Ange.”

Another pause. “Do what you’re doing. Give it time. When you can, tell Alex what you saw. Then you can decide.”

Eliza nodded, then remember that Angelica couldn’t see her. “Yeah, that sounds reasonable.”

“And keep me posted.”

“I will. Thanks. I love you.”

“I love you too. And now I need coffee.”

Eliza knew she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, so she made tea and sat sipping it until the sky began to lighten in the east. Then she stood at the window watching the clouds turn pink and gold. She had watched a lot of sunrises when Philip was a tiny baby, but now she was rarely up this early. She tried hard to find some positive symbolism in the beauty of the sky, but nothing came to her. I’m married to a man who’s in love with somebody else. He may or may not also love me, but that’s not how marriage works. That’s not even close to how marriage is supposed to work. She drank another cup of tea and went back upstairs to check on Philip. He was still sound asleep; the day at the zoo had worn him out. When she went into her own room, Alex was awake, sitting on the side of the bed.

“You okay, babe?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, I just woke up early.”

Alex held out his hand. “What have you been doing?”

“Watching the sunrise.” She took his hand.

“C’mere,” he said, pulling her down beside him. “Anybody else up yet?”

“I don’t think so. It’s still early.”

He leaned in and kissed her, then put his free hand on the back of her head to hold her in place and kissed her again. Then “Stay right there,” he whispered. He got up, locked the bedroom door, and came back, pulling her down onto the bed with him.

He unfastened her robe and slid a hand up under her pajama top. He took her breast in his hand, running his thumb over her nipple in the way that always sent electric shocks through her. She arched up for more, watching his face. Alex’s face was always an open book, and she could see clearly that he loved touching her. His lips were parted and his eyes dark. As soon as he got her pajama top off, he put his mouth on one breast, his hand on the other and gave her exactly the kind of touch and pressure that she loved. She tried to be quiet, but little whimpers and moans of pleasure escaped her.

“You know I like to hear you,” Alex told her. “It’s hot.” He pulled her pants down in one fast move and got his hand between her legs.

She choked off a cry as he ran his fingers over her. “John’s right in the next room.”

“He’s still asleep,” Alex said. He licked two fingers to get them good and wet, then slid them into her. As he circled and scissored his fingers, he put his mouth back on her breast and sucked hard. She let herself give in to the pleasure, losing her awareness of everything except Alex. She wasn’t quiet.

John, in the next room, was not asleep. He could not help overhearing. He did more; he listened closely to all of it, remembering exactly how Alex sounded at each moment, learning about Eliza. He let himself fantasize, trying to picture what each of them looked like as they made love, their movements, the expressions on their faces. He imagined himself in the room, watching them, touching them. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever experienced, and he came hard into his rolled-up tee shirt.

It was quiet in both rooms. John lay still, breathing hard, wondering what was in the realm of the possible. Eliza rested her head on Alex’s chest, reassured that he still wanted her. Alex held her, his hand in her hair, hoping John had heard them.

* * * * *

“I’m driving,” Eliza said. “You can sit in the passenger seat and turn around to talk to John without risking our lives.”

Alex complained a little, but only because it wasn’t his idea. Delia was there to baby sit, and they were meeting Gil and Peggy, Herc and James at Lantern.

“Is it a fancy place?” John had asked.

“Fancy-ish,” Eliza told him. “Wear shoes.”

John had raised his eyebrow at that, smiling that smile. “You making fun of Southerners?”

It was impossible not to respond to the smile. “Of course not. You did bring shoes, right?”

“Oh, you mean real shoes, not sneakers or flip-flops? No.”

She frowned. “Really? I’m sure Alex has some …”

He laughed. “Gotcha!”

She laughed. How could she help but laugh? He was funny and cute and kind and a wonderful father. And in love with her husband. _I must be losing my mind,_ she thought.

As it turned out, John Laurens looked very good indeed in an expertly tailored navy blue suit, his curls tamed into perfect ringlets with just a bit of gel. He was the last one to come downstairs, and he found the other two waiting for him in the hall, Alex in a black suit every bit as stylish as John’s, and Eliza looking gorgeous in a sapphire blue taffeta sheath and silver high heels. “Well,” he said, “we do clean up good.” He turned to Eliza, laughter in his green-gold eyes. “It’s a Southern expression. We talk funny down there.”

“Just stop,” she told him, but she was smiling, and that was what he had hoped for.

It would take them more than an hour to get to the Madison Avenue restaurant, but that was life in New York when you lived in the outer boroughs. Eliza navigated the Queensboro Bridge and went north on Park Avenue, while Alex, half turned around in his seat, kept up a running commentary on everything they passed, and John acted interested in it all because he loved to see Alex in his element like this.

“This is called the Upper East Side of Manhattan,” Alex said, “because it’s on the East Side of Central Park. It’s a very classy neighborhood. If you’ve got a few million, I can find you a nice one-bedroom apartment.”

“Sorry, not tonight,” John laughed.

Eliza told Alex to text Gil to say they’d be there in about fifteen minutes, and Alex got out his phone. They were barely aware of the sound of sirens off to the right.

The escaping drug kingpin barreling west on East 97th Street had already hit two other cars but he was driving a Bentley Bentayga, and they barely slowed him down. It was almost impossible to get up to any speed on Manhattan streets, but he saw a gap in traffic ahead and floored the accelerator to get through it. He hit Alex’s Chevy Cruze directly in the passenger-side front door.

The sound of the crash was deafening, and the Bentley pushed the Chevy across two lanes of traffic. All the air bags in the car exploded and everything turned white.

_My God, I was driving, it’s my fault,_ Eliza thought.

_We hit an IED,_ flashed through John’s mind.

Then both of them screamed for Alex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Philip's Paw Patrol night light is a shout-out to Sebastian Miranda.  
I created Lantern for another story, but I think I put it on the Hudson then. It seems to have moved. Maybe there's a Lantern franchise.  
I know you're all worried about Alex, so I'll try to get the details to you fairly soon. In the meantime, what will happen to/with/between Eliza and John? There's a lot going on.  
I'm thrilled that this story has been getting a good reception. Thanks to all of you for kudos and especially comments, since they motivate me to write more. <3 <3 <3


	6. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gil does a lot of doctor things. John makes a decision that baffles his sister Martha. Peggy makes phone calls. Theo makes soup. Things are going to be difficult. Eliza still doesn't know what to do, but John has an answer for her.

By the time Gil and Peggy got to the hospital, John had been checked and released, and he was pacing frantically in the Emergency Department waiting room. He grabbed Gil by the front of his shirt. “They won’t tell me anything,” he sobbed. “They won’t let me in. They said I’m not family, and … Gil, it was bad. There was blood everywhere. I was in the back, but …”

He stopped, trying to get his breath, and Gil interrupted him. “They’ll talk to me. Stay here with Peggy. Herc and James are on their way. I’ll be back as soon as I get information for you.”

John nodded and stood looking after Gil as he flashed his hospital ID and walked through the double doors into the examining area.

“John …” It was Peggy. “Is Delia with the kids?”

“What?”

“Delia usually babysits.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. Yes.” He blinked. “You’re Peggy.”

“Yeah. Gil will take care of things, I promise.”

“You’re Eliza’s sister.”

“Yeah.”

“There’s another sister.” John’s voice was expressionless, as if he was going through a list of information.

“Angelica. She lives in London.” John nodded again, and Peggy continued, “Listen, I’m going to call Delia and tell her there was an accident, so she won’t worry when you don’t get back on time.”

“Don’t tell Francie.”

“No, no, of course not. I’m not even going to tell Delia much. She’s our cousin, and I don’t want her calling my Aunt Judy and scaring everybody to death.”

“How long do you think it will take Gil to find out?” John asked anxiously, his eyes on the doors to the examining area.

‘Not long,” Peggy told him soothingly, taking out her phone to call Delia, her own stomach in knots with worry. She kept the conversation with Delia brief – minor traffic accident, getting checked out in ER just in case, insurance forms, blah, blah, blah. She hung up to find John’s eyes on her face.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re scared too. Eliza’s your sister. I’m not thinking clearly.”

She put her hand on his arm. “It’s okay, John. And remember, this is the best trauma center in the city. They’re in the right place.”

Herc and James entered the waiting room, both of them holding cardboard carriers with cups of coffee. Herc looked around and found a group of empty seats. He jerked his head in that direction. “Let’s sit down, then tell me everything.”

John gulped the coffee gratefully and told Herc what they knew so far, essentially nothing.

_Gil should have come back by now,_ Peggy thought. He’d been gone longer than she had expected, certainly longer than he would have needed to get basic information. The fact that he hadn’t returned was ominous. She tried to swallow some coffee.

Herc was doing his best to make conversation with John, asking about Francie, about Charleston, about anything he could think of, but John was barely responding, his eyes still on the doors.

It was over an hour before Gil came through those doors. He stopped and had a brief word with the nurse at the desk, then crossed the room, Peggy running to meet him. He grabbed her into a quick hug, then signaled the rest of them to follow him into a conference room off the corridor.

John didn’t like that at all. People don’t take you into a private room to give you good news. He reached out blindly, and Herc took his hand, holding it tight.

Gil closed the door and said immediately, “They’re both alive.” Peggy had pulled her chair as close to Gil’s as possible, and he put his arm around her as she cried. John turned to lean his forehead against Herc’s shoulder. Gil wasn’t smiling, though, and he continued, “Eliza’s okay. She’s got some bad contusions and a severely sprained shoulder, so they’re going to keep her overnight. She’s in a lot of pain, but she’ll be fine in a few weeks.”

John was shaking. “Alex?”

Gil looked straight at him. “The car hit exactly where Alex was sitting, so he got the worst of it. His pelvis is fractured in several places, three major breaks and some smaller ones. The fragments of bone perforated his right kidney and maybe some other organs …”

“Maybe?” John asked, half-bewildered, half-furious.

“He’s still in surgery.”

“Oh, shit. Fuck, Gil, what …”

Gil held up his hand. “Jack Morgan’s the best surgeon I know. I got three minutes with Dan Cochran, the resident who’s assisting him. Alex will lose the kidney; that’s a given, but lots of people live perfectly normal lives with one kidney. Morgan will put the pelvis back together with nuts and bolts and steel plates. The problem is what else Jack might find once he’s in, a perforated bowel or bladder, lacerated blood vessels, liver damage – things that don’t show up on an x-ray. Whatever he finds, they’ll do everything they can to repair it.”

John stood up, let go of Herc’s hand. “What’s the worst it could be, Gil?”

Gil knew better than to lie to John. “I’d put Alex’s chances of surviving at eighty-twenty, which is good, really. I don’t think he’s going to die, but he’s going to have a very long, very difficult recovery.”

“How long?”

“At least a week in the hospital, probably longer, then maybe another month in a rehab facility. If he’s lucky, and all goes well, he might be home for Christmas.”

“That’s almost two months.”

“Yeah, and he’ll still have more recovery time at home after that.”

John nodded slowly, taking it in. “All right. Eliza goes home tomorrow?”

Gil nodded. “She’ll need a couple of weeks at least before she can use her arm.”

John smiled faintly. “Maybe I can help. I’m kind of an expert on that.”

Peggy looked up. “I’ll call out of work for the week, so I can be there and help with Philip and everything.”

John took a breath. “I don’t know how you’re all going to feel about this, but I’m not going back to Charleston now. Unless Eliza tells me to go, I’m staying until they’re both all right.”

Gil nodded, not surprised. “Be careful, John. You’re going to need to take care of yourself too.”

* * * * *

Alex’s surgery had taken more than six hours, and it was nearly three in the morning before the surgeon was able to meet with Gil and John. Peggy had gone to the house in Queens to relieve Delia, and was going to stay for a while. Herc and James had gotten take-out for all of them, and then had left the hospital with instructions to call as soon as they had any news. Gil had tried to send John home with Peggy, but, as he had expected, John wasn’t leaving. Since Gil worked in the hospital, he had managed to snag an empty office, and they had dozed a little on a couch and a recliner, but neither of them slept for more than a few minutes at a time. At two forty-five, Gil’s phone chimed with a text message, and he took a quick look at it. “Come on,” he said to John. “Alex is out of surgery.”

They took the elevator up to the third floor and walked down what seemed an interminable hall, dimly lighted and quiet now, through some doors labeled Surgery, and finally into an ordinary-looking office with a cluttered desk and hard plastic chairs. Seated at the desk was a man around forty, wearing scrubs and a surgical cap. A mask hung around his neck, its strings still tied in the back. There was blood on his scrubs. It looked like a lot of blood to John. Alex’s blood.

Gil pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to him. He opened the paper, read it, and looked at John. “You’re John Laurens?”

John nodded, not understanding. “Yes.”

“I’m Jack Morgan. Sorry, I have to check, not that Gil wouldn’t follow procedure.”

John wasn’t sure if that was meant to be ironic or not.

Gil waved in the direction of the desk and said, “Eliza signed a HIPPAA waiver so that the hospital could legally give you information.”

“_Eliza_ did?” John sounded astonished.

Gil turned to look at him, and his face softened. “Yeah, she did, sprained shoulder and all. She said you were a family friend.”

John had managed to hold it together until that moment, but his eyes filled and overflowed, and he had to turn away. There was a box of tissues on a small table, and he grabbed a few, telling himself to pay attention to what Dr. Morgan was saying.

“So, you know we had to remove the kidney, but that wasn’t the real issue; there was a significant amount of blood vessel damage, and he was losing blood almost as fast as we could replace it. The right pelvic fossa had a medial fracture with some fragmentation, and I was picking bone splinters out of his iliac vein with tweezers.” He looked up at Gil and shook his head. “We had a few bad moments, but we got it done.”

“How many units?”

“Five. We’ll look at his hematocrit in the morning and maybe give him another one, but I think the soft tissue injuries are stable now. Then we reassembled his pelvis. He’ll set off airport metal detectors for the rest of his life.”

Gil nodded. “I’ll let his family know how much they owe you, Jack.”

Dr. Morgan gave a weary smile. “All in a day’s work.” His face turned somber. “He was lucky. He didn’t have much time when we got him on the table.”

John gave silent thanks to whatever gods might be listening for ambulances and EMT’s and trauma centers and then held out his left hand to the surgeon. “Thank you. I don’t have enough words to tell you how grateful I am, and I know Alex’s family will feel the same way.”

Dr. Morgan extended his own left hand without a hint of awkwardness. “His prognosis is good, but he has a lot of work ahead of him. The physical therapy will be arduous, and he will have to be diligent with it.”

John smiled. “I lost the use of my right hand in Afghanistan, so I know something about physical therapy. I’ll help with that.”

The doctor looked from John to Gil. “Were you all in Afghanistan together, you two and Alexander?”

Gil nodded. “Yeah. We’ve already shared some hard experiences. We’ll get through this one too.”

* * * * *

The plan was that Gil would pick up Eliza when she was discharged and take her home. Peggy had texted that they should do some shopping so that there were enough easy meals and baby diapers and other items they would need in the house. She’d also gotten in touch with Theo and Aaron, so that Aaron could let the office know what had happened, and Theo was already making casseroles to stock the freezer.

John had spent what was left of the night on Gil and Peggy’s couch, getting a few hours’ sleep. He called Martha as soon as he’d had coffee. After her initial shocked response, Martha seemed perplexed about why he had decided to stay in New York indefinitely, but she listened carefully to his instructions. “I want you to go into my studio and find all the Afghanistan sketches that I’m using for the January show pictures. There are a lot of them, some rough, two finished, one in progress. Take them to Jerry at the gallery, tell him to pack them and ship them to me.” He read her Alex’s address.

“I can pack them,” Martha offered.

“No, Jerry knows how to pack artwork safely. Oh, and get my pens. Send the whole set. It’s in the wooden box on the left side of the desk.”

Martha assured him that she knew what the box of pens looked like. “Anything else? Paints or ink?”

“No, I can get those here easily enough. Tell Jerry that everything will be done in time for the show, and I’ll fly down before then for him to do a preliminary check. Oh, and listen, I hate to ask you to do all this, but could you go through my fridge and throw out anything that will go bad? I don’t want to come home to a mold colony.”

“Sure, no problem. Do you want me to set your thermostat lower so you’re not paying to heat an empty house?”

“Yes, thank you for thinking of that. I’m glad you’re smart.”

There was a pause, and then Martha asked, “John, how long do you think you will be there?”

“I don’t know yet. A while.”

“Okay, call me when you can, keep me posted.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

John could see the expression that he knew must be on his sister’s face, her eyebrows pulled together in a puzzled frown. Never mind. He’d explain when he could.

Gil went through Peggy’s clothes and pulled out some sweatpants and a shirt that buttoned down the front for Eliza.

“Do they wear the same size shoes?” John asked. “She had high heels on last night.” Eliza in her sapphire blue dress, her silver shoes sparkling. She had looked stunning.

“No, but I’ll find her some heavy socks. I can lift her in and out of the car, so she won’t really need shoes. They’ll have her on Oxy, so she’ll probably sleep most of the next forty-eight hours or so, which is just as well.”

John nodded, aware that unlike Gil, he couldn’t pick Eliza up if she needed help getting around. _Cross that bridge if we come to it,_ he thought. _I can cook and clean and do laundry and take care of the kids. I’ll make it as easy for her as I can. _The word _easy_ didn’t even belong in that thought. Nothing was going to be easy for Eliza or Alex for a long time.

John and Gil went to see Alex first. Gil stopped at the nurses’ station and picked up Alex’s chart for the latest information. When they entered the room, he was asleep, or at least he had his eyes closed. He had an IV drip going into one arm and a unit of blood going into the other, and his face was pale, the contrast of his black hair making it look almost white. Gil looked at the chart.

“What’s it say?” John asked, his eyes on Alex’s face.

“About what I thought it would. His crit was a little low, so he’s getting some red blood cells, but that’s only to be expected. Vitals are okay.” He took a deep breath. “When Alex is completely recovered from this, I’m going to explain to him just how close he came to death, so that he’ll appreciate how lucky he is to be alive.”

“I may have heard that particular Ted talk,” John said.

Gil put his hand to his face, embarrassed. “God, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay – I went through all the stages, and I’m pretty sure some of my doctors wanted to kill me. I’m positive my physical therapist did.”

“I’m glad you made it back.”

“Yeah, me too, and it’s true, you know, the whole cliché thing about a close call making you grateful for what you have. I know how lucky I am.”

Gil threw an arm around his shoulder. “You planning to see Alex through this?”

“If I can.”

“How do you think Eliza will be with that?”

“She knows, Gil.”

“She _knows?_ About you and Alex?”

“Yeah.”

“She knows it wasn’t just in Afghanistan?”

“Yeah, and she still signed the paper saying I could have their medical information, hers and his.”

Gil stared at him. “That’s … a lot to take in.”

“We hadn’t resolved anything, but at least she didn’t throw me out. I offered to leave.”

“And?”

“She said no.”

“But now all of this has interrupted whatever you might have been working out.”

John shrugged. “Maybe, but at least I can be useful for a while.” He gave a crooked smile. “She could still throw me out.”

“Good luck – I don’t even know what I mean by that, but I hope things will be okay for all of you.”

“Thanks. Do you think Alex is going to wake up while we’re here?”

“Probably not. We should go get Eliza.”

John went to Alex’s bedside first and dropped a kiss on his pale forehead. Alex didn’t stir, but the regular beeps of the machines indicated that he was breathing normally and his heart was beating. That was something to be thankful for.

Eliza was awake, but groggy, and obviously in pain. Doctor Morgan had come by earlier to tell her about Alex’s surgery, and a nurse had wheeled her to his room to see him, but he was unconscious then too, and she was fretting about him. Gil reviewed everything he knew with her, and that helped relieve her mind a little, and then he continued with more information. “Peggy is still at your house, and when we get there, she and I will go out shopping and make sure you have everything you need. Oh, and Theo is bringing over some of her magic chicken soup for your dinner tonight.”

“What about Delia? Will she be there in the mornings?”

“I’m not sure,” Gil responded. “Peggy will know.”

“I know Delia’s got classes in the late afternoon and evening. I’m not supposed to pick anything up for two weeks. Do you think Peggy …”

Gil glanced at John, but John remained quiet. “It’s okay,” Gil said. “John’s staying.”

Eliza looked at John, her eyes wide. “What? How long?”

“As long as you need me. I can pick Philip up with one hand, and I’m an experienced one-handed diaper changer.”

Eliza’s eyes filled with tears. “You don’t have to …”

“I know.”

“What about Francie?”

“She’ll be over the moon. At least this way, she won’t try to take Philip back to Charleston with her.”

Eliza held out her left hand. He took it with his left. “Thank you,” she said, and he responded by tightening his grip.

Gil stared out the window at the gray November day, wondering how the hell it was all going to play out.

* * * * *

The house was full when they got there, busier than Gil in his doctor role would have chosen to bring Eliza home to, but he tried to be diplomatic. Theo and Aaron were there, Theo having brought half a dozen containers of homemade soup and a pan of lasagna. Francie was talking excitedly, and Philip, overexcited, burst into tears when he saw his mother. Peggy picked him up, but he wailed pitifully, reaching for Eliza, and she tried to take him with her left arm. Gil intervened quickly, holding Philip so that Eliza could give him a one-armed hug until he calmed down. Theo and Aaron acknowledged Peggy’s cursory introduction to John, and gave Eliza quick hugs. “I’ll text you,” Theo told Peggy. “Call me the minute you need anything.”

Peggy looked tired. She wasn’t used to dealing with two small children, and she was glad to see Gil. She brought Eliza a cup of tea.

“Peg, can you stay long enough to help me get a shower?” Eliza asked. “I feel grubby and my hair is sticking to my head.”

“Of course. Oh, and I see you borrowed my clothes without permission again.”

Eliza smiled at that, and asked, not altogether irrelevantly, “Did you call Angelica?”

Peggy nodded. “As soon as Gil gave me the update on Alex. How’s he doing, by the way?”

“Okay. He wasn’t awake today.”

“He’ll be sedated for a few days,” Gil told her. “I read his chart, and he’s doing as well as can be expected.”

“That doesn’t sound great,” Eliza said.

“Eliza, he was very, very badly injured. It was a close call, but the prognosis is good now. It will just take time. The goal is that he be home for Christmas.”

“Wow. That seems like a long way off.”

“You’ll be able to see him. He’ll probably be released from the hospital in ten days or so, and there are several good rehab centers not too far from here. You’ll be back driving in a couple of weeks or so. It’ll all work out.”

Eliza nodded. It was more than she could think about right now. She just wanted to take a shower and go to bed. Gil let her walk up the stairs slowly, with him walking behind her. “Behind her on the way up, in front of her on the way down,” he told John quietly. When they got upstairs, he showed John how to unfasten and refasten the complicated canvas-and-velcro brace that immobilized her shoulder. “She has to wear it all the time now,” he said. “In a week she can take it off at night.”

John nodded, paying careful attention. So far, he didn’t see anything he couldn’t manage. Peggy helped Eliza into and out of the shower, but Gil said that she should be okay to shower on her own in another day. They left her in bed with her phone at her side so she could text if she wanted anything. “Much better than yelling,” Gil told her with a smile. She was asleep in minutes.

Gil and Peggy made a quick run to the grocery store to load up on diapers, milk, and frozen macaroni and cheese, then stayed long enough to eat some of Theo’s famous soup. “See if you can get Eliza to eat something later,” Gil said to John, “but it’s even more important that she get plenty of fluids. That’s why soup is good.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“She’ll be okay,” Gil said reassuringly. “The injury isn’t serious, just painful and inconvenient, but she’s had so much stress over the last couple of days.”

More than that, John thought. The stress started when I got here. The least I can do is help her deal with all this.

When Gil and Peggy left, he got both of the children bathed and in bed and took a shower himself. He peeked in on Eliza and found her sitting up, her phone in her left hand.

“I think you’re supposed to be resting,” he reminded her.

“Gil said to text you if I needed anything, but I can’t text with one hand.”

John smiled. “I’ll show you how it’s done later. What do you need?”

“Could I have some of the chicken soup?”

“Of course. I’ll bring it right up.”

“I can walk downstairs.”

“Are you sure? It’s no problem.”

“I’ll come down.” She looked at the floor next to the bed. “Can you look for my slippers? They’re probably in the closet. They’re blue.”

He found the slippers and hovered while she slipped them on, then walked down the stairs in front of her as directed. It seemed rude, but it made sense. Then he heated up more of the soup and set the bowl in front of Eliza. She held the spoon awkwardly in her left hand, trying unsuccessfully not to dribble any. “It’s crazy how uncoordinated my left hand is,” she exclaimed in frustration.

“I know what you mean,” John said, smiling.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry, I didn’t think.” She looked like she was about to cry.

“Don’t be silly,” he told her. “I meant it literally. I do know exactly what it’s like and how hard it seems to do the simplest things.” He picked up the spoon. “Let me help.” He fed the soup to her spoonful by spoonful, and when it was gone, he put the dishes in the dishwasher and turned it on.

“Thank you,” she said to him.

“You can stop thanking me for every little thing. I'm glad I can help. I _want_ to help you.”

“John …” She reached out her hand and he took it. She looked up at him, her eyes dark. “I still don’t know what to do.”

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. “Neither do I,” he said, “but maybe we’re already doing it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peggy really did have an Aunt Judy; her mother's brother Jeremiah married a woman named Judith Bayard. There's no cousin Delia on record, but a lot of the VanRensselaer women were named Cornelia, so I opted for Cordelia, Delia for short.  
I get all my medical stuff from being the only humanities major in a family of science folks. If I got stuff wrong (probable), blame my brother.  
The next couple of months are going to be very stressful for Alex, Eliza, and John. How will they manage?  
Thanks so much for the kudos and comments. You guys are the best!


	7. We Could Be Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex moves to rehab. Eliza tries to figure out her own feelings. Peggy is very upset about something. Alex questions John.

For the first three days, Eliza stayed home, resting and trying not to fret too much over Alex. Gil called at least three times a day with updates, so she knew Alex was all right. On the fourth day, he was coherent enough that they were able to have a brief phone conversation, but his voice sounded so strained that it worried her. The next day, John drove her to the hospital to visit.

Alex was out of the ICU now, in a regular room. He still had an IV, but he was complaining about it, which Eliza took to be a good sign.

“I hate that thing. I want to get it out.” He gestured to where the IV needle went into a vein on the back of his hand.

“Did they say how much longer you’d need it?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Alex muttered irritably. “I forget stuff because of the meds.”

John knew about that. “How bad is the pain?”

Alex managed half a shrug. “It’s all right as long as I don’t move.”

Eliza’s eyes filled with sympathetic tears. “Try to lie still, then.”

“They won’t let me,” Alex complained. “The damn physical therapist is a sadist.”

“They started physical therapy already?” John asked alertly.

“He keeps lifting my legs up and it hurts like hell.”

“Yeah, they have to do that.”

“Why?” Eliza asked, all her concern for Alex’s comfort.

“If he doesn’t move, the muscles will begin to atrophy, and it will make it harder to regain full range of motion,” John explained. “The longer they wait to start PT, the longer it takes to recover.” He leaned over and put his hand on Alex’s. “You’re going to have to cooperate, babe.”

None of them even noticed John’s use of the endearment.

“When can I get out of here?” Alex asked.

“Not too much longer,” Eliza said. “Gil says probably three more days, and then you’ll go to the rehab center.”

“I want to go _home._”

“I know, and I want you to come home, but you can’t yet. They’ll get you walking again in rehab.”

“For sure?” It was evident from Alex’s face that he’d been worrying about that.

“For sure,” John told him firmly. “I’m signing us both up for a 5K in September.”

“That’s nearly a year from now.”

John shrugged. “Yeah, well …”

Alex reached for his hand. “Thank you for staying.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad I can help. Besides, it looks like I’m going to have make sure you do what the physical therapist tells you to do.”

John could see how tired Eliza was on the drive home. She leaned back against the seat, her eyes closed. She might even have slept for a little while, but as they pulled into the driveway, she asked, “Alex will be able to walk, right? There’s not something you and Gil are keeping from me?”

“He absolutely will.” John turned in the seat to put his hand on hers. “We wouldn’t do that. Listen to me, Eliza. I will never lie to you. I promise I will never lie to you.”

Her eyes went wide. “Do you mean that?”

“Of course.”

She was struggling to hold back tears. “I don’t understand you at all, John Laurens.”

“Eliza …”

She pulled her hand away from his. “We should go in. It’s time for Delia to leave.”

Eliza went upstairs to lie down, and John spent most of the afternoon dealing with children and laundry, wondering what Eliza had meant.

* * * * *

Around a week later, Eliza made a decision and called Peggy

“How are you feeling?” Peggy asked.

“Okay, still tired. The pain’s not as bad, and at least now I can take this contraption off to sleep.”

“That’s good. Gil says Alex is doing well.”

“Yeah, John and I went to see him today. He’s complaining, so he sounds like himself.”

“I’m going to get over to see him this weekend.”

“That’s good. You know Alex, he always wants somebody to talk to.” Eliza paused for a minute. “Peggy, did Gil ever tell you anything about Alex and John?”

“What do you mean? What about them?” Peggy asked.

Evidently not, then. “In Afghanistan, they … they weren’t just friends. They fell in love.”

“_What?_ Oh, shit, Eliza, what? Are you serious?”

“Yeah, it’s …I didn’t know either.”

“Oh, fuck. Wait, wasn’t John married?”

“Yeah, and Alex and I were engaged … it’s …” she stopped and took a breath. “Look, nobody’s saying it was an ideal situation.”

“I just … I can’t … when did Alex tell you?”

“He didn’t.”

“Who did? Gil?”

Eliza was beginning to wish she hadn’t decided to have this conversation. “Um, no, nobody told me. The first afternoon John was here, I … I saw them.”

“What the actual _fuck,_ Eliza?” Peggy was practically shrieking. “_Two weeks ago?_ This is still going on?”

“Yeah, sort of. I mean, not now, of course, with Alex in the hospital …” that was an idiotic thing to say, she realized as soon as it was out of her mouth.

“Oh, my God, and John is still there? Do you need me to come over, Eliza, because I will have no problem kicking his cute-Southern-boy-artist ass out of your house!”

“No, no, Peggy, it’s fine, I’m fine. I don’t want him to go.”

“You don’t … Have you lost your fucking mind?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. He’s really helping me a lot.”

“I’m sorry, Eliza, but that’s just stupid. I can get you a home health aide by tomorrow.”

“No, it’s not just that, Peggy. It’s hard to explain.”

“Duh, yeah.”

“I like him. He’s kind, and he’s thoughtful, and he’s wonderful with Philip, and I really like him. I don’t want him to leave.”

Peggy took a deep breath. “All right. Listen, I’m going to talk to Gil about the meds they gave you for pain.”

“It’s not the meds, Peggy …”

“I’ll call you back later.”

_Oh, that went well, _she thought, wishing she had never made the call._ Is Peggy right? Am I crazy? Is it crazy to think that John Laurens is a wonderful person who just happens to be in love with my husband, who is also in love with him, but loves me too?_

_Yeah, I’m probably crazy._

She went downstairs.

* * * * *

After eight days in the hospital, Alex had been transferred to a rehabilitation center only about five miles from home. John and Eliza went to see him every day. As expected, he complained nonstop about the physical therapy. Also as expected, he made progress. After two weeks, he was able to take a few steps with a walker.

“Look at you,” John said, grinning. “Training for that 5K in September.”

“They’re probably going to try to make me run a 5K before I leave here,” Alex muttered sarcastically, but there was a gleam in his eye that told them how proud he was of his progress.

“Keep it up,” Eliza told him. “We want you home for Christmas.”

Around the time Alex moved to the rehab, John received a huge box from Theus Galleries in Charleston.

“It’s my work for the gallery show that’s scheduled for January,” John told Eliza. “I can work on it here. Will it be all right if I use Alex’s study?”

“Of course. Just move whatever’s in your way.”

“I’ll put everything in carefully labeled boxes so Alex won’t kill me when he sees I’ve touched his stuff.”

Eliza laughed, but it was one of many things John said that made her realize how well he understood Alex. He knew Alex as well as she did, knew his flaws as well as his virtues, and loved him exactly the way he was. She was sure that should make her angry, but it didn’t. John loved Alex the way she loved him, not blindly, but for who he really was, not for some imagined ideal.

_And Alex loves John,_ she thought. Somehow, it didn’t seem unreasonable to her. _He loves John, and he loves me._ She knew it to be true. She just didn’t know what to do with that fact.

When John had the study set up as his studio, she asked if she could see some of his work. He showed her the two finished pieces for the show, _No Exit_ and _Responsible_. She studied them intently.

_“No Exit,”_ she mused, “but there’s the door. You’ve highlighted the door. Why …?” Her face changed suddenly. “Did he die there?”

“Yeah.” John found himself caught off guard. Eliza’s reaction proved how powerful his drawing was, and while that confirmed his vision, it was also a reminder of Sam’s death and all the other pointless deaths he had seen in war. He blinked away tears. “Sorry, I didn’t expect …”

“Oh, John.” She reached up and brushed the tears off his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” She looked back at the sketches on the table. “God, how painful it must be for you to work on these.”

Stunned for a second time at her instant comprehension, he put his arm around her and held her, unable to say anything. She leaned into him, her arms around his waist, her head against his chest, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

After a few minutes, he whispered. “Eliza Hamilton, you are an amazing person.”

She stepped back and looked up at him. “You’re the artist who created that. I think that’s pretty amazing.” She let go of him. “I can’t keep my arm up. It hurts.”

“You all right?” he asked quickly.

“Yes, it’s still sore, but it’s getting better. I just wanted you to know …”

“What do you mean?”

“Why I let go of you.” There was a faint flush in her cheeks.

“I like holding you, Eliza. I like having you close to me.”

“John …”

“Hm?” His arm was still around her.

“I don’t understand the way I feel.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know.”

He tightened his arm and put his face in her hair, breathing in its clean scent. “Is this all right?” he asked softly.

“Yes. Oh, yes. I like it.”

“That’s good then. We both like it. Step one.”

Her head was against his chest again. “Step one to where?”

“To wherever this journey takes us.”

She finally pulled back, with regret.

* * * * *

Gil had notified Ben Rush about what had happened to Alex.

“And where is he now?” Ben asked.

“Union Rehab Center, right off 495 near Parsons Boulevard.”

“Yeah, I know where it is. I don’t live too far from there, as a matter of fact. I’ll stop in and see how he’s doing. I know a couple of guys in that area if it looks like he should be seeing somebody.” He looked at Gil speculatively. “How does he seem to you?”

Gil shrugged. “Hey, I’m a surgeon. You know what they say, we heal with cold steel.”

“I think I’ve heard that. Nothing touchy-feely about you guys.”

“Damn straight.”

“Joking aside, Gil …”

“I saw Alex every day he was in the hospital, and I talked with Dan Cochran a couple of times. He seems to be doing all right from a psych perspective. I don’t think much gets past Dan.”

Ben nodded. “Have you seen him since he’s been in rehab?”

“Only once, and mostly he complained that the physical therapists were torturing him. That’s normal for Alex. I’ve talked to Eliza or John every day, though, and they say he’s doing well.”

Ben was frowning. “Wait, Eliza or John? I know Eliza’s his wife, but … you’re not talking about John Laurens by any chance, are you?”

“Oh, shit,” Gil said. He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Do you have time to get coffee?”

Gil spent the next hour catching Ben up on John’s reappearance in Alex’s life, going back to their time in Helmand Province and concluding with John’s decision to stay in New York until Alex was back home.

Ben stared at him across the table. “Jesus, Gil, there’s enough there to keep a dozen guys like me busy for a year.”

“I know. And yet, they all seem to be fine.”

“John is essentially living with Eliza while Alex is in rehab?”

“And the children. Don’t forget them. John’s daughter is three and a half, and Philip is almost two.”

“Right. Well, what could go wrong?”

Gil sighed. “Look, I know this is nuts, and like you said, I’m not good at the touchy-feely stuff, but I talk to Alex and either John or Eliza every day, and … I’ve never heard Alex sound happier.”

“Now I really want to talk to him,” Ben said.

* * * * *

When Gil left the hospital, he realized his phone was still off from his last surgery, and he turned it back on to find five texts from Peggy saying _Call me!_ He called her immediately from the parking lot.

“Are you all right?” he asked as soon as she answered the phone.

“I’m fine, but why the fucking hell didn’t you tell me about Alex and John?”

Oh. He took a deep breath. “Who told you?”

“Eliza, of course. What kind of meds did they give her for her shoulder, because I think she’s lost her mind. That shit can mess up your judgment, right?”

Another deep breath. “I’m leaving the hospital now. We’ll talk when I get home.”

“Fuck, Gil, I …”

“I’ll be there in half an hour.”

He closed his eyes for a minute. He hadn’t really been joking about not being good at the touchy-feely stuff. He hated emotional scenes and shouting and chaos so much that when Peggy was really annoyed with him, she called him Spock. Judging by her profanity usage, she was several levels past annoyed right now and, when he considered it, she probably had good reason to be. She was the only one who had still been shut out from an issue that everyone else in their circle knew. There had been no point in keeping it from her once Eliza knew, but he hadn’t told her for the very reason that he didn’t want to have an emotional discussion. Well, he was going to be paid back for that, and maybe he deserved it. Maybe you couldn’t have a genuine relationship if you didn’t deal with the messy stuff.

He stopped and bought two red velvet cupcakes just in case bribery might be needed.

Peggy was waiting for him when he opened the door.

“What the actual fuck, Gil?” she asked angrily as he hung up his coat, stalling for time.

“Let’s go sit down,” he said. “I don’t want to stand in the hall and fight.”

“Are we going to fight?” Peggy asked.

“I’d rather not,” he responded, “but let’s see how it goes.”

He thought her mouth twitched a tiny bit at that as if she was trying not to smile, so that seemed like a good sign.

He put the cupcakes on the kitchen counter as he walked by, and they sat down in the living room.

“Remember when you asked me what was going on, and I said I couldn’t tell you because it wasn’t mine to tell?”

She was sitting across from him, leaning forward, tapping her foot. “Yeah.”

“Well, this is what it was. I’d always known about Alex and John’s relationship because I’d been with them in Afghanistan, but it wasn’t up to me to tell anybody about it.”

“Not even Eliza? They weren’t married yet, you could have warned her.”

“Peggy … what if I had?”

“Well, she could have broken off her engagement and not married somebody who had already cheated on her.”

“And?”

“What do you mean, _‘and’_?”

“Would everything have been all right then?”

“Well, Alex could have gone to South Carolina to be with John …”

“John was married.”

“Well, shit, Gil, I don’t know, but …”

“I didn’t know either, Peggy. I thought about it. Of course I thought about it, but Eliza adored Alex, and he gave every sign of loving her. He and John had apparently decided to go on with their lives. What good would it have done if I smashed everything up for them and for Eliza and for John’s wife and daughter? It wouldn’t have been better than things are now.”

“Things are a _mess_ now, Gil.”

“Tell me what Eliza said.”

Peggy sniffed. Her anger wasn’t as evident, but she was still really upset. “She told me that Alex and John had had a thing in Afghanistan and that it wasn’t over.”

“A thing?”

“She said they fell in love,” Peggy said reluctantly. “And that they’re still in love. Is that true?”

“As far as I can tell, yes.”

Peggy put her face in her hands. “But what’s worse, Eliza doesn’t want John to leave. She says she likes him, and the way she said it … I think she means, you know, _likes_ him.”

Gil got up cautiously, and took the few steps to the couch and sat down next to her. She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “Do you think it’s because of the medication?”

He almost smiled, but it was a serious question, and it deserved a serious answer. “No, I don’t. First of all, Eliza hasn’t taken anything stronger than Advil since two days after the accident, and anyway, she wasn’t taking anything that would cloud her judgment that way. If she says she likes John, I think we should believe her.”

“This is like the worst reality show ever.”

Gil couldn’t not laugh at that, and Peggy finally smiled. “But she’s my sister, I don’t want her life to be messed up.”

“Maybe you should let her decide on that?”

Peggy glared at him. “I knew you’d say that.”

“But, listen, hear me out. What if you were doing something that Eliza or Angelica thought was a really bad idea, but you were happy with it?”

“Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know, dating me, maybe?”

Peggy smiled, but both Eliza and Angelica had told her that Gil was moody and that he shut people out. “Well, they’d be wrong, that’s all.”

“You see what I’m saying then?”

“Yes, of course, and maybe I’ll let Eliza live her own life, even though I think she’s lost her mind. And, by the way, dating you is the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Will you marry me, then?”

* * * * *

When Eliza went back to work a month after the accident, John visited Alex at the rehab facility most mornings. He’d get there right before lunch because Alex had one physical therapy session from nine to eleven and another from two to four. He was always tired from his morning session when John arrived.

“I hate those guys with a deep and abiding passion,” Alex said one morning.

“The physical therapists?”

“Of course the physical therapists.”

“I get it. Have you thrown anything at any of them yet?”

“No, but that’s a good idea.” He thought about it, surveying the room carefully for possible projectiles. “Damn, there’s nothing in here more dangerous than a paper clip. Could you bring me some rocks next time you come?”

“No, you idiot,” John told him, laughing. “I want you to come home from rehab, not go to jail.”

“They’re still saying I can make it home by Christmas.”

“That would be good.”

Alex looked at him for a few minutes as if there was something that he wanted to say, but then he moved on to another topic. “My psychiatrist came to see me a couple of days ago.”

“The guy you were seeing for PTSD?”

“Yeah. He says I’m doing better.”

“No kidding?”

“Yeah, what was it? _The challenge of recovery seems to have energized me in a positive way_.”

“Okay. What did you say to that?”

“That it was complete bullshit.”

John laughed. “Of course. And why did you say that, because I think he might be on to something.”

Alex shook his head, smiling faintly. “John, you know it’s got nothing to do with the challenge of recovery.”

“But you are doing better.”

“Yeah, no nightmares since a few days before the accident.”

John saw where he was going. “Alex …”

“Tell me why you’re still here, John.”

“You know why.”

“Tell me.”

“Because I love you,” John said softly. “Because I love you, and I want to be sure you get well, and because I can help with things at home.”

“And?”

John tried not to smile. “And because Francie adores Philip and never wants to leave him.”

“And?”

Alex had always understood him better than anyone else.

“And because I’ve fallen in love with your beautiful Eliza.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as I know, Union Rehabilitation Center doesn't exist, but Route 495 does intersect Parsons Boulevard.  
Is Eliza as confused as Peggy thinks she is? Will Alex be home for Christmas? Will John still have his gallery show in January? 
> 
> Thanks to all of you for kudos and comments. <3 I still have some decisions to make on where this story line is going, so feel free to advise me.


	8. Alive Right Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's an ice storm. John and Eliza talk. Peggy and Gil talk. Eliza and Alex talk. Then there's less talking.

John didn’t like the cold, but it was December in New York, and it was cold every day. The sleet had started at around ten in the morning, and he had told Delia to go home before the roads got too icy. He face-timed Alex instead of going to visit, and then he checked the Weather Channel on his phone every few minutes while helping the children build a blanket fort. Because of the sleet, they were pretending to be Arctic explorers – at least Francie was. Philip was just following her around the house looking through a paper-towel roll telescope because that’s what she was doing. Teddy was playing the role of a polar bear, and Philip’s stuffed elephant was a walrus. The blanket fort was the tent that the brave explorers were living in. John was all for supporting the kids’ creative play, but when it was time for lunch, he insisted that they eat in the kitchen.

“It’s tomato soup and grilled cheese,” he said. “No soup in the living room.”

“Real explorers eat in their tent,” Francie objected.

“Well, the kitchen is the cook tent,” her father told her. “There’s always a separate tent for cooking.”

She looked at him suspiciously, but she was hungry, so she took Philip by the hand and they came to the table. “We saw a polar bear today, didn’t we, Philip?” she asked.

Philip responded with something that might have been _bear_, followed by a lot of seemingly random syllables.

“That’s right!” Francie told him. She turned to John. “He said that polar bears live in the snow.”

“Did he really say that? I couldn’t understand.”

Francie gave him a pitying look. “I can understand everything Philip says.”

The two of them had become inseparable, and they did seem to be having a lot of conversations. A few nights ago when John was tucking her in, Francie had told him that Philip was her pretend brother now, and she was his pretend sister. It had caught at his heart, but he hadn’t mentioned it to Eliza or Alex. There were already too many variables, and he didn’t want to bring the children into it. He had even done a google search for preschools in the area, and there were several that he’d like to look at, but every time he thought about it, he got stuck in all the what if’s.

He didn’t want to go back to Charleston.

He gave the Arctic explorers some cookies to take to their tent and checked the weather again. The sleet was turning to freezing rain, and schools and businesses were closing early. A few minutes later he got a text from Eliza that she was leaving work. She usually stopped at the rehab center to see Alex, but she was coming straight home because the roads were getting bad. John spent the next hour pacing, checking his weather app, and staring out the front window. He took a few minutes to get the children down for their naps, and then went back to the living room, watching the coating of ice build up on every tree branch and wire. He didn’t pray much, but he found himself repeating _Please keep her safe_ over and over in his mind. If there was a God who listened, great; if not, it couldn’t hurt.

When he saw her car pull into the driveway, he felt like he could breathe again. She came in through the kitchen door, and he was right there in front of her, smiling.

“How bad are the roads?” he asked.

“Awful,” she responded. “If this keeps up, nobody’s going anywhere tomorrow.”

He wouldn’t mind that. “I’m making tea,” he said, “and there are cookies.”

“You made cookies?”

He waved in the direction of the family room. “The Arctic explorers needed them.”

Eliza surveyed the blanket fort. “Is that every blanket we own?”

He laughed. “There are still blankets on the beds, but I don’t think there are any more in the closets.”

“They had fun, didn’t they?”

“I think so.”

He poured the tea and put some cookies on a plate. She sat for a minute, one hand on the table, the other rubbing the back of her head.

“What’s wrong?” John asked.

“Tension headache.” It felt like someone had put a steel band around her head and was relentlessly tightening it. “Driving on icy roads is stressful.”

“Lean forward a little,” John told her, moving to stand behind her. “I’ll give you one of my special one-handed neck rubs.”

She was always taken by surprise when he mentioned so casually that he had only one functioning hand. “Okay.”

She took a sip of tea and let him position her head as he wanted it. He put his fingers on her scalp and his thumb on the edge of her hairline, and began applying pressure. She felt herself begin to relax as he moved into the tight muscles at the back of her neck, taking his time. His thumb pressed behind her right ear, and she winced. “There?” he asked, and he worked along the length of the muscle, all the way down to her shoulder. His hand was warm and strong and skillful, and she felt the tension waning as he continued.

“You’re good at this,” she said.

“Mm-hm. Is it helping?”

“Yes, a lot, really.”

“I’m glad.” He kept going a while longer, and then just rested his hand, warm and firm, on the back of her neck. It was strangely intimate, and it should have felt intrusive, but it didn’t. She sighed and leaned back into it, her eyes closed, letting him support her head for a minute, and then he slid his hand up, lifting her hair and moving her forward, and she felt his lips on the back of her neck.

It seemed inevitable, as if she’d known it would happen, even though it had never crossed her conscious mind. His lips were soft and gentle, and she didn’t move.

“Okay?” he asked.

She let out a long breath. “Yes.” How could she, Eliza Schuyler Hamilton, faithful and loving wife, say that?

He did it again, then dropped to his knees next to her chair and kissed just under her ear. She hadn’t moved, and her eyes were still closed, but all the tension had melted out of her body. She sighed and made a tiny sound, and John’s lips moved to her throat. He carefully unbuttoned the top button of her white blouse and pulled it aside to kiss along the edge of her collarbone.

She breathed his name, barely audible, “John …”

“Hm?”

“Don’t stop.”

That was exactly what he wanted to hear. He continued, small kisses, his lips barely moving against her skin, from her throat to her jaw, and then finally to her mouth. He put his hand on her elbow to guide her, and they stood up. She put her arms around his neck and opened her mouth for him; she had never been kissed so slowly. John seemed to have all the time in the world to explore her lips and her tongue. It was a long time before he pulled back, and she looked up, her eyes on his.

He smiled. “Let’s get out of the kitchen.”

Her heart started hammering. “John …” she said again.

“Sh. Come on.” He held her hand and led her into the family room to the couch, dislodging part of the fort to make room. “Let’s sit down and be comfortable.”

Eliza thought _comfortable_ was a wildly inappropriate word at the moment.

“I need to talk to you,” John continued. “I hope what I’m going to say won’t upset you, but I can’t be sure.”

She held onto his hand tightly. “What is it?”

She looked anxious. He didn’t want her to worry. “I talked to Alex a few days ago, and I told him something that he had already figured out.”

Alex always figured things out. Alex knew her. Had he seen something in the way she looked at John? Did he think she didn’t love him anymore?

“What?” she asked, barely able to get the word out.

“I told him that I’d fallen in love with you.”

That wasn’t what she had been expecting. She gasped and let go of John’s hand, heart pounding so fast that it felt like it was going to fly out of her chest. “What did he say?” she whispered.

John put his arm around her. “Don’t be afraid, sweetheart. First he said he wasn’t at all surprised, because how could anybody not fall in love with you …”

“Really? _Really?”_

He kissed her forehead. “Yeah, really. Then he said, and I’m trying to get the exact words, ‘John, if the two of us did everything we could every minute of every day for the rest of our lives to show Eliza how much we love her, it would still be less than she deserves’.”

“The … the _two_ of you?”

“Yeah.”

“And he’s … he’s not … he knows I still love him?”

“Of course. Is that what you were worried about?”

She nodded. “I always thought … we only love one person, so when I saw you and Alex … I thought it meant he didn’t love me. But he does.”

“Of course he does.”

“But he loves you too.”

“Yeah.”

“And then, I started to have feelings for you, but I knew I loved Alex, and so I was confused.”

John smiled at her. “So you have feelings for me?”

She reached up and twisted her fingers in his curls. “John, I love you. I love you so much, and I don’t know what to do because I love Alex.”

“So do I,” John reminded her softly.

“How do we … what are we going to do?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, I don’t know how we’re going to work out all the logistics, but I’m sure we love each other, so we’ll start from there.”

“Logistics?”

“Oh, you know, all the day-to-day details about who cooks dinner, and who picks up the dry cleaning, and who sleeps on which side of the bed.”

She was smiling until he got to the end of his sentence, and then she gasped and turned bright red.

He laughed and murmured into her neck. “C’mon, babygirl, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

Of course she had. She’d slept alone for nearly two months now, and more than one night she’d lain awake fantasizing. Every time John touched her, she started thinking about it again. And now … now what?

“Tell me,” he said.

She put her hands to her face. “Tell you what?”

“Tell me what you think about.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed, but she didn’t say anything.

He leaned in for another long kiss. “Do you think about that?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. What else?”

“Everything.”

He ran one finger across her forehead, down her cheek, and then to her lips, tracing their outline. “You’re so beautiful. Can I sleep with you tonight?”

“Yes.”

* * * * *

“When should we tell them?” Peggy asked.

“I think you should have a ring first.”

“Hmm,” she said, looking at her naked left hand, “some guys get the ring before they ask the question.”

“But not me.”

“But not you.”

“Some guys get people to record the proposal, and they post it on Instagram. Are you disappointed that I didn’t set that up?”

Peggy knew that the last thing Gil would ever want was to make a public performance out of their relationship. “Not at all.”

He smiled at her, winding one of her curls around his finger. “I’d like you to have your ring by Christmas so that you can show everybody. Do you want to go ring shopping on Saturday?”

“Definitely.”

“Good, we’ll do that. By the way, is Angelica flying over for Christmas?”

“Probably. Also, I was thinking we should have everyone here for Christmas dinner. We went to Alex and Eliza’s last year, but even if Alex is home by then, he’ll still need help, and Eliza shouldn’t have to look after him and fix a giant dinner for all of us.”

“It would be great to have Christmas here, but Eliza wouldn’t be doing everything by herself, you know. John is there.”

“I know, I know.” She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, but it’s just so _weird_. Do you think Eliza has told Angelica yet?”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

“Because I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Peggy, my love, at some point, you’re going to have to stop getting creeped out by your sister’s relationships. I know you love Eliza.”

“Of course I do, that’s why I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“Why do you think she’ll get hurt by this?”

“Well, two guys would double the chances of somebody hurting her, wouldn’t it?”

Gil shook his head. “Somehow, I don’t see math as a good analogy here. We all get hurt, Peggy. It’s part of being human. It’s part of allowing yourself to get close to people.”

“You don’t think John and Alex might just go off together and leave her alone?”

“I don’t know, but neither do you. They might all live happily ever after or they might not. But, listen, they’re happy now, aren’t they?”

She nodded reluctantly. “Yeah.”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

She thought about it. “Do you think that about us too, that there’s no way to know if we’ll be happy together in the future?”

“No, I don’t, because I don’t try to look ahead and predict the future. Do you know the most important thing I learned in Afghanistan?”

He never talked about Afghanistan. “What?”

“That _now_ is all we have. A minute from now we could be gone – a bomb may hit, or even here in New York, a plane may crash into a building, so if we don’t make the most of _now_, we have nothing. I don’t know what will happen five minutes from now, Peggy, let alone five years or fifty years, but I know I love you now. I want you now, and I think Alex and John and Eliza feel the same way about each other that I feel about you and that I think you feel about me. I wouldn’t take that away from them for anything in the world.”

Peggy threw her arms around him. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. And just in case I never mentioned it, you’re amazing and I love you.” She kept her face hidden against his shoulder, so she could pretend she didn’t see his tears.

* * * * *

The ice storm continued through the evening, and the Governor declared a state of emergency and banned all vehicle traffic except first responders. Eliza made hot chocolate with marshmallows in it for dessert, and they all stood at the window watching the light from the street lights reflecting off the ice-covered branches of the trees. Everything glittered as if it was made of glass, even ordinary fence posts sparkling like crystal. Francie wanted to go outside to touch the sparkles, but John told her they were magical, and that if she touched them they’d disappear. Francie nodded, wide-eyed. It made perfect sense to her.

Eliza smiled. “Can you put the kids to bed? I want to call Alex.”

He understood. “Of course.” He gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek and took the children upstairs.

Eliza hit FaceTime and Alex answered right away. “Hey, babygirl,” he said, smiling. “I missed you today.”

“I know. I’m sorry, but the roads are awful.”

“Don't be sorry. I want you to be safe. Don’t even think about going out until the ice is gone. One car accident in this lifetime is enough.”

“Right.” She hesitated. She couldn’t see his face as clearly as she wanted.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“I think so.”

“What do you mean?”

“John and I talked.”

“Oh, did you?” His smile broadened. “So tell me how you feel about John Laurens.”

“Alex …” She could feel the warm blush spreading up her face.

“He’s pretty cute, isn’t he?”

“Oh, my God, Alex, you are crazy.”

“You know what else?” He held the phone close to his mouth so that no one else could hear him. “He’s a really good kisser.”

All right, Alex was asking for it. “I _know_,” she replied, her eyes sparkling.

Alex burst out laughing. “Oh, babygirl, wait till I get home!”

Her heart did a flip-flop thing in her chest as she thought about Alex coming home to both her and John. “Alex, are you sure? Really sure about it?”

“I am absolutely sure.”

“I love you,” she told him. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too. I love you, and I am the luckiest guy in the world. You should go now, I don’t want to keep you up too late.” He gave her another wicked grin. “Good night, babygirl.”

“Good night, Alex.”

She sat for a minute staring at the dark screen of the phone in her hand, all sorts of thoughts racing through her mind. What was it John had said? That somehow, they’d work out the logistics. All they could do now was start.

John was waiting for her upstairs, standing patiently in the hall. He smiled. “Did you talk to Alex?”

She nodded. “Mm-hm.”

“What did he say?”

“He said you’re a really good kisser.”

“Did he? And what did you say to that?”

“I told him I already knew.”

John laughed and pulled her close to him. “Oh, Eliza, I love you.”

“I can’t even believe I said that. And Alex _liked_ that I said it, we were flirting with each other by talking about you.”

“That’s good, right?”

“I think so.” Her heart was beating fast. “It felt good. It felt … it was hot.”

“Mm.” He kissed her neck. “So we have Alex’s approval.”

“There’s no doubt about that.”

“And you feel better knowing that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do. It’s still … I feel a little bit like I’m walking out on a frozen lake without knowing how thick the ice is.”

“I promise I won’t let you drown, sweetheart. I’ll never do anything you don’t want.”

Want? She was burning with want, her body alight for him. Her conversation with Alex had only stoked the fire. “I want you,” she said.

He took her by the hand and led her into her room, her and Alex’s room. She understood now how much Alex had suffered because he loved John and had turned away from him because he also loved her. She could only imagine how hard that must have been. No wonder he had nightmares. No wonder he was constantly stressed. Now everything was different.

She stood with John at the foot of the bed, and he slid his hand into her hair, cradling her head as he kissed her. She melted into it, and then he kissed her cheek and her jaw and her throat. She whimpered, and he murmured, “You like that?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Tell me what else you like.”

She flushed and shook her head. “I don’t know.” It had been years since she’d been with anyone except Alex, and for the last couple of years, their relationship had been troubled. She had no idea where to begin with John.

He ran his tongue lightly around her ear. “Then I’ll find out.”

He pulled her to the bed and unbuttoned her shirt, doing it easily with one hand. She remained passive, not sure what to do. John was absolutely nothing like Alex.

It was disorienting to be naked in bed with John, as though she’d somehow slipped into an alternate reality. Without stopping to think about it, she touched the patchwork of scars on his right arm. He smiled faintly, and moved so that she could see it clearly. “Here,” he said, pointing right below the elbow. “This was the worst of it. Destroyed the nerves and most of the muscle. I still have a little feeling in my hand, though.” He lifted his right hand with his left, and placed it palm-down on her abdomen, and then he stroked her very lightly. She could see that most of the movement came from his upper arm, but his right hand wasn’t completely paralyzed. “I can feel your skin,” he told her. “It’s warm.”

She touched his hand, caressed the scars all the way up his arm, and then kissed them.

“No one ever did that,” he whispered.

“There’s been no one since …”

He thought of the Tinder and Grindr encounters. “No.”

She propped herself up on her elbow. “I don’t know anybody like you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know how to be with you. I don’t know what to do.”

He traced her lips with his finger. “You don’t have to do anything, sweetheart.”

“But I want …”

He smiled. “Do you want me to get things started?”

She shivered. “Yes.” There was something exciting about not having to make any decision.

He kissed her mouth, slowly, softly, tasting her. “You’ll tell me if you don’t like something, right?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, you lovely girl, I am going to do things to you very carefully.” He began with her mouth, kissing, of course, but then holding her bottom lip in his teeth so she couldn’t move away, while his hand moved from her left breast to her right, rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, still holding her in place with his teeth. When he finally let her go, she gasped, arching up and twisting her fingers in his curls.

“Oh, yeah, do that, babygirl,” he told her. She pulled his hair harder and watched his face as his eyes closed and his lips parted. She did it again, and he shuddered, opened his eyes to look at her. “Fuck, Eliza.” He brought his mouth back to hers, breathing harder now.

_He likes me to pull his hair,_ she thought. _I can make him feel the way he makes me feel._

He kissed his way down her body, flicking his tongue in her navel, then pulled back to look at her. “Look how pretty you are,” he murmured. His South Carolina accent was stronger. “Babygirl, I’m gonna go as slow as I can, because the longer it takes, the harder you’ll come, and honest to God, Eliza, I want to wreck you completely tonight. I want you to remember it forever. I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t even remember your name, and then, hell, I don’t know, but I’ll think of something because you’re so beautiful I don’t ever want to let you go.”

Eliza was trembling, repeating, “Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God” before he even started.

“You like me to talk about it, don’t you?” He was grinning.

“Yes, please, oh, God, John, please.”

“I’ll start right here, then,” he said and put his mouth on her.

Later, much later, he held her, and when she put her hand on his face, she found that he was crying too. It had been a kind of epiphany, understanding that everything they felt for each other was multiplied by what they both felt for Alex. When John had whispered to her, “Imagine what it will be like when Alex watches us,” she had climaxed with an intensity that she’d never experienced before. Now, coming down, still breathing hard, she thought about what that meant.

“You love Alex the way I love him,” she said.

“From the first minute I saw him. He was like a flame that I wanted to fly into.”

“Yes. That’s exactly it. He’s like fire.” She closed her eyes, remembering her first night with Alex. Not just a flame, a conflagration.

And now this, with John … if Alex was fire, John was deep water, a swift, relentless current that hurtled her into waves that rose and rose and rose until they finally crested and crashed like the surf. Her heart was still beating fast.

She stirred in John’s arms, turning so she could kiss him. “You said you wanted me to remember tonight.”

She felt him smile against her mouth. “Will you?”

“Forever.”

He made a small noise of satisfaction.

“John …”

“Hm?”

“Please don’t ever go away.”

He took her hand and kissed her palm, then laced his fingers though hers. “Never,” he promised. “Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, I really struggled with this chapter, maybe because most of the "action" is internal rather than external. I hope it's not too disjointed.  
Thanks to all of you who are reading and following, and thanks always for kudos and comments. I love to hear what you think.


	9. Go Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finishes his work for the gallery show. Alex, Eliza, and John make some decisions and share the information with Francie and Philip. Alex disagrees with his psychiatrist. Plans are made for Christmas.

Jerry Theus had been calling John at least once a week, sounding progressively more concerned over John’s long stay in New York. “What do you mean you’re not coming back until it’s time for the show?” he asked now.

“I’ll be back a couple of days before the show, I promise. I’ll have all the work to you well before then ...”

“How long before?” Jerry interrupted.

“When do you need it?”

“The show opens on the twenty-fourth, so at least two weeks before that.”

“By the tenth, then,” John agreed. “There won’t be a problem.”

“Listen, I know it’s none of my business, but what the ever-loving hell is going on with you? You went to visit an old friend for a few days, and next thing I know your sister’s in here with your life’s work, asking me to pack it up and ship it to New York. By the way, you might want to call her. I ran into her having brunch at Poogan’s Porch last Sunday and she tells me she hasn’t figured out what you’re doing either. Something about a friend got hurt in a car accident, so you’re staying for two months? That sounded pretty crazy to me.”

John did feel guilty about not giving Martha the full story, but how could he tell her everything over the phone? “Yeah, there’s a little more to it, Jerry, but everything’s okay, and the work’s coming along. Don’t worry.”

Jerry made a noise that sounded like _hrmph_ and reminded John that he still owed him for the shipping costs.

“The check will be in the mail tomorrow, I promise. Things got a little ahead of me, but I’m catching up.”

He hung up and looked at Eliza. “I may be in a little trouble with the gallery.”

She smiled. “You won’t be when they see your work. It’s amazing.”

Alex’s office had become John’s studio. There were ten completed pictures, black and white ink with vivid splashes of water color, all with intriguing names. John didn’t want anyone around while he was working, but Eliza had seen most of the drawings at different stages, and she was blown away every time by John’s talent. Her favorite, of course, was the one of Alex grinning, looking more than a little cocky, highlighted against a golden yellow wash. It was called _Desert Sun_; most gallery visitors would undoubtedly think the title referred to the sun in the sky. Eliza and John knew that Alex was the sun itself.

The last two pictures were partly done. One showed three soldiers walking in the desert, not in formation, but leaning on one another. It gave the impression that they were either hurt or exhausted, and there were streaks of red-orange that could have been the sunset or drying blood. It was called _Journey_. The last one showed a young Afghan soldier facing an American soldier whose face was unseen and whose outline was only vaguely sketched. The Afghan was gesturing, and it was clear from the expression on his face that he was upset. The incomplete representation of the American soldier emphasized that he wasn’t listening. There was the outline of a pool of blue at their feet. It might have been water if they hadn’t been in the desert. The title was _Musa. _Eliza stared at that one for a long time. “Who is he?” she finally asked.

John pointed to the title. “That’s his name, Musa. It’s the Arabic form of Moses. He was our interpreter. The Army promised to get him and his family out, but I don’t know if they did. I couldn’t find out.”

“They wouldn’t just leave him there, would they? Wouldn’t he be in danger?”

“He would, but the Army made all kinds of promises it never kept.” He stared at the picture. “It means _rescued from the water,_” he said quietly, and then saw her bewildered expression. “The name, Moses or Musa, that’s what it means. So there’s going to be water spilled on the ground, and maybe he was rescued from it. He was a good guy.”

Eliza put her arms around his waist and leaned against his chest. “I have no idea how you’ve been able to do these pictures, John.”

He looked at them spread out on the table. “Neither do I. I won’t do any more war pictures, though, at least not for a show. It’s enough.” He looked up at her and smiled. “A few more days and I can ship these to Jerry, and then we can start Christmas shopping.”

* * * * *

Alex rarely needed a walker now and was currently managing with two canes. His goal was to need only one by Christmas. He’d continue physical therapy after that, and his doctors were optimistic that eventually he wouldn’t need even one cane. John was more than optimistic. He really had signed them up for a 5K run in September. _That’s more than nine months,_ Alex told himself. _I’ll be able to do it._

John and Eliza continued to visit him every day, but not often together. Sometimes they came in the late afternoon, though, and brought Francie and Philip with them. Today Alex wanted to show them how far he could walk, so they had a kind of disorganized procession from his room to the patient dayroom and back, John grinning, Eliza worrying that Alex might fall, and the children getting in the way. Francie was holding on to John’s sleeve with her left hand and to Philip with her right. Philip had brought his elephant, and of course Teddy went everywhere with them, so Eliza somehow ended up carrying the shabby stuffed bear, and when they got halfway back to Alex’s room, John started laughing.

“What?” Alex asked

“Just us,” John responded, waving his hand. “You me, Eliza, two kids, and a couple of stuffed animals. Would you ever in your wildest dreams have thought?”

Alex’s face lit up. “Never, but now …” He turned to smile at Eliza. “I’m so happy.”

Eliza blinked a few times. “Happy tears,” she assured them.

When they got back to the room, Philip was trying to tell his father something. It sounded like “Olly,” but Alex looked helplessly at Eliza.

“I think the elephant is named Olly,” she said, “but I’m not sure.”

“Is that it, Philip? Is Olly your elephant?”

“No,” Philip said quite clearly. “_Olly._”

Francie gave the almost-four-year-old version of an eye roll. “It’s Wally,” she stated firmly. “His name is Wally, right, Philip?”

“Olly,” Philip repeated, nodding in agreement.

“It’s short for _walrus_,” Francie explained patiently.

“Of course it is,” Alex muttered, staring at the elephant.

“Because he was a pretend walrus when we were exploring,” Francie continued, “because elephants and walruses both have those things …” She waved her hand in front of her mouth. “I forget.”

“Tusks?” John asked, trying so hard not to laugh that his eyes were watering.

“Yes, tucks,” Francie agreed, pleased that somebody had finally understood something.

John swept his daughter up in a hug, and then she wanted to hug Philip too, so Eliza held Philip, and then they deposited both kids on Alex’s bed for more hugs.

“Picture!” Eliza said, pulling out her phone, and snapped a cute one of Alex and the kids, then she took one of John and Alex, and Alex took one of Eliza and John, and she thought, _I hope all my Instagram friends are ready, but if not, too bad. This is the best thing that ever happened to me._

“Philip’s daddy,” Francie said to Alex, “are you going to come home soon?”

“Pretty soon,” Alex told her. “For Christmas.”

“We’re going to make cookies.”

“That will be fun.”

“What’s your favorite kind of cookie, Philip’s daddy?”

“Chocolate chip,” Alex responded, “but maybe we can find something a little shorter than ‘Philip’s daddy’ for you to call me.”

Francie thought about it. “I could call you daddy because Philip is my pretend brother.”

“Yeah?” Alex looked from John to Eliza. “But you already call your daddy that, so it might be confusing.”

“How about Papa?” Eliza asked softly.

“That’s good,” Alex said. “For Philip too, though, right?” He turned to John. “I want it to be the same for both of the kids – for all of the kids.”

“All?” John asked, his eyebrows up, but his face alight.

Alex grabbed for Eliza’s hand. “I don’t think we’re done yet, are we?”

“Not yet,” she smiled. “I’m Mom, right?”

“Well, of course.”

John nodded. “Francie, baby, c’mere, I want to tell you something. You know how Philip has been your pretend brother, and you’ve been his pretend sister? Well, now he’s going to be your real brother. I’m your dad, just like always, and Alex is your papa, and Eliza is your mom.”

“Okay,” Francie said, as if he’d told her the sky was blue. Then she looked up at him and smiled. “I _knew _he was my real brother.”

* * * * *

John showed Eliza how to pack artwork, how to use plastic sleeves and Styrofoam blocks and layers of corrugated cardboard.

“I had no idea it was this complicated,” she said.

He smiled. “You know it’s irreplaceable, right?”

“I guess. I hadn’t really thought about that.”

“I can’t ever make these exact works again, so we have to protect it, and then we have to insure it.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Your artwork – are you able to make a living with it?”

He laughed. “We’re not going to be broke, babygirl, but I won’t make us rich yet. Eventually maybe.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she protested, embarrassed.

“It’s okay. We’ll have to talk about money and a million other things. Anyway, I’ll insure these for a thousand each, but they probably won’t bring that much. I have some other money, though.” He explained about the insurance and the money he had inherited. “And I suppose I ought to sell the house in Charleston. I mean, you and Alex do want me to live here, right?”

“John! How can you even ask?”

“I knew the answer. And while we’re talking, let me bring up a few more things. If I’m presuming too much, just say so, and of course we’ll need to talk to Alex, but maybe we could get some things started before Christmas so that it’s not as hectic when he comes home. I’m planning to put the house in Charleston up for sale when I go there for the gallery show. That will give us some cash. I don’t know how long you and Alex were planning to stay in this house, but maybe we should look at the possibility of a bigger place? You did say there would be more kids, right?”

She smiled up at him. “We did say that. We’ll probably need another bathroom.”

“And a bigger master bedroom.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Eliza, has it occurred to you that we should get a king-size bed before Alex comes home?”

“Oh. That … yeah, we should probably do that.” She looked away, blushing.

“Hey.” John put his finger on her chin and turned her face to look at him. “Are you _embarrassed?_”

“No! I’m just … I mean, when I think about it, I feel … I don’t know, overwhelmed, maybe?”

He kissed her lightly, his eyes on hers. “We should start with Alex in the middle, don’t you think?” he asked in a perfectly normal conversational tone. “I think we should spoil him for at least a few days because he hasn’t had any fun at all for two months. But then I want to get you in the middle soon, too.” He leaned in closer, the bright flecks in his eyes glittering like pirate’s gold in deep water. He spoke softly now. “Do you think about that, babygirl, Alex on one side of you, me on the other? What do you think we might do?”

She felt like her knees were about to give out and grabbed his shoulders. “John …”

“We could both touch you. That would feel good, wouldn’t it? We could suck your breasts. I know you like that. I love the way you squirm when I do it. Alex and I both at the same time? I think we could really make you feel good.” He touched her breasts over her shirt, rubbing the nipples. “Me here, and Alex here? How would that be?”

Her eyes had gone wide and unfocused, her lips parted, as she clung to him, breathing fast.

“What if I watch while Alex fucks you? I could see his face and your face, and you’d both be so beautiful. I could kiss you while he was fucking you so I could have my tongue in your mouth when you come. Or what if Alex goes down on you while I go down on him? That would be amazing. You both make such gorgeous noises. I would get so hard listening to you that I’d need to fuck you as soon as Alex was done.” He brought his mouth close to her ear. “Are your panties wet yet?”

She caught a quick breath. “Soaked, damn you. What are you trying to do to me?”

“You know exactly what I’m trying to do.” He was smiling that beautiful smile.

He started to unbutton her pants, but she put her hand over his, holding it still. “You’re going to have to wait, my love, because there are two children in the family room watching _Finding Nemo,_ but neither of them has a two-hour attention span.”

“Fuck.” He took a step back and shook his head ruefully. “King-size bed, though?”

“We should order that tomorrow.”

* * * * *

Dr. Rush dropped in to see Alex again. “I hear you’re going home soon.”

“December twenty-third,” Alex nodded, grinning from ear to ear.

“How are you feeling?”

“Physically, still not where I’d like to be. Mentally, better than in a long time.”

Dr. Rush nodded. “No more nightmares?”

“No. I think they’re gone for good.”

“They weren’t really about the war, were they?”

“No. I told you, I was JAG, so I was never in the field. I never saw people die in battle or on the operating table. The nightmares were about something else.”

“Mind if I hazard a belated diagnosis?” Dr. Rush asked.

“Of course not. I’m actually interested.”

“I think you came back from Helmand Province traumatized, but not by memories of the battlefield. You weren’t afraid to remember; in fact, you were trying desperately to hold on to your memories.” He looked at Alex. “Right so far?”

“Yeah.”

“You could have told me, you know.”

“I couldn’t let myself say it out loud. I felt like I was betraying Eliza, and I really do love her.”

“Psychiatrists are never shocked by what people tell them.”

Alex raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Maybe, but I wasn’t risking it.”

“So you kept dreaming that you couldn’t protect John.”

“Yeah.”

“But it was actually your memories of John that you wanted to protect.”

“I was so afraid I’d forget him,” Alex said softly, looking down.

“Alex, it was an untenable situation. If you believe you love two people, the advice is always that you have to choose one.”

“I know.”

“And you wouldn’t do that.”

“I couldn’t do that. Let me ask you, do you have children?”

Dr. Rush nodded. “Two, a boy and a girl. The oldest one is in his first year of middle school.”

“Suppose somebody told you to choose just one. You can only love one, and you have to give the other up for adoption. It will be fine, painful at first, no doubt, but you’ll get over it, and you’ll be very happy with the one you choose.”

The doctor’s face had gone still. After a minute, he said, “Alex, that’s not really a valid analogy.”

“Why not?”

“Parental love isn’t like romantic love. Parents can love any number of children. Romantic love is different. We’re hard-wired to love one person at a time. Lifelong monogamy seems to be difficult for many of us, but pair-bonding is not.”

Alex gave him a faint smile. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Look, you’re the guy who went to medical school and did the long residency in psychiatry, so I’m not going to argue with you. I just don’t think it’s true. I think it’s cultural conditioning that has more to do with economic control than human nature. And you know what, even if it is true for most people, it’s not true for us.”

“And the three of you are going to make this work?”

“I can’t foretell the future. All I can say is that nothing has ever made me happier than finding out that John and Eliza love each other.”

“Most men wouldn’t be happy that their wife was in love with their best friend.”

“Most men aren’t lucky enough to have John and Eliza in their lives.” Alex broke into a sudden grin. “You should keep all your notes and check in every once in a while. Maybe in ten years or so, you can write up the case study and be famous.”

Ben Rush laughed. “Maybe I will,” he said. “Maybe I will.”

* * * * *

“Tell me again why this is a good idea,” John sighed, looking at the long line ahead of them. He was carrying Francie, and Eliza was pushing Philip in the stroller.

“Because it’s Christmas and the kids need to tell Santa what they want.”

John had never taken Francie to see Santa. Her first Christmas he’d been deployed. Her second Christmas, he’d still been recovering from his injury and was in no emotional state to go anywhere. Last year, Martha might have taken her; he wasn’t sure. He felt guilty that he didn’t even know, but at the same time, he recognized that everything was different now. They were putting together a new family and there would be new traditions. One of them, apparently, would be visiting Santa at the mall.

There were helper “elves” at various places along the line, talking with the kids and giving them small gifts like miniature coloring books. Eliza seemed to approve of that, and really, the kids were being remarkably patient. Francie was chatting about everything she saw, and Philip was dozing off and on in the stroller. He looked at Eliza, and realized she was beaming with joy. That was worth everything. He gave her a light kiss on the cheek and she smiled happily at him. “Look at us,” she said. “We’re beginning a new family. I have a daughter now, and Philip has a sister, and we have you. Alex is coming home, and all the nightmares are gone.”

“It’s been a long time since I was excited about Christmas.”

They had all the plans made. They’d bring Alex home on the twenty-third and have what they were saying would be a quiet evening at home. They would have to be sure that Alex did his physical therapy exercises and got enough rest. On Christmas Eve day, they would make cookies with the kids and hang the stockings on the fireplace. On Christmas Day, they’d go into the city for dinner at Gil and Peggy’s. Angelica and Church were flying over from London, and Aaron and Theo would be there too with their daughter Daisy who was between Francie and Philip in age.

John was a little worried about being overwhelmed. It had been years since he’d celebrated Christmas with more than a few people. The last one he could remember before he was deployed had been just him, Patty and Martha. Patty’s parents lived in Florida, and his own had died years ago, so it was just the three of them. It had been nice, but nothing like he expected Christmas this year would be. _Well,_ he told himself, _you’re marrying into this family, so …_ He stopped himself, caught unawares by the word he had used in his mind, but yes, that was how he was thinking of it. In every sense except a legal one, he was marrying Alex and Eliza. He looked at the beautiful woman next to him as she listened to Francie tell her the colors of all the decorations she could see. _My wife._ He thought of Alex, not just Alex now, but Alex in his arms and in his bed in Afghanistan, of being able to hold him and kiss him every day. _My husband._

He blinked away tears and pulled his mind back to the present. One of the elves had given the children candy canes, and Francie was patting his face with a very sticky hand. “Put me down now,” she said. “We’re almost next.”

Eliza got some wipes out of her purse and removed the candy cane residue from both of the children. She had dressed them in matching outfits for the pictures with Santa, a green velvet dress for Francie and green velvet overalls for Philip with a white shirt. His plaid bow tie matched the ribbon in Francie’s curls.

John smiled. “They’ll hate these pictures when they’re teenagers.”

She nodded, smiling back. “I know, but they’ll appreciate them when they’re forty.”

“Long view?”

“Yes. I don’t think there’s any other way to raise kids.”

It was their turn. Francie took Philip by the hand and walked confidently up to Santa.

“What’s your name?” Santa asked for what was probably the thousandth time that day.

“I’m Francie, and this is my brother Philip. He used to be my pretend brother but now he’s my real brother."

Santa smiled and gave John and Eliza a friendly nod. “And what would you like me to bring you for Christmas?”

John listened closely because Francie hadn’t been very forthcoming when he’d asked her.

“A telescope,” she said now, “because we’re explorers, and Philip wants a walrus because his elephant is only a pretend walrus.”

Santa nodded as if this made perfect sense, and wished them all a merry Christmas. Eliza paid some extortionate amount of money for the pictures, and they went home and ordered pizza. Philip was a little fussy from all the excitement, so it took a while to get him to sleep. Eliza came downstairs to find John on the computer in the study. He looked up and smiled when she came in. “One stuffed plush walrus from a site where part of the purchase price goes to wildlife preservation and one genuine brass telescoping spyglass that actually works, ordered with one-day shipping because it’s the Christmas season.”

“I love you,” she said, collapsing onto the loveseat. “I think Philip wanted to stay up all night.”

“Long day for everybody.”

“Yeah, but a good day. And I think you just finished the Christmas shopping.”

“I think so. Hey, do you have any idea where the key to Alex’s desk might be? I had an idea, and I’m looking for something, but this bottom drawer is locked.”

Eliza frowned. “Is it? That’s odd.”

“Not really. He might have thought he had something to hide from you.”

Her eyes filled. “Oh, of course. Poor Alex. It all seems like such a long time ago now, but it’s only been a few months. What are you looking for?”

“I gave him a picture I drew, a picture of him and me. I don’t think he would have thrown it away.”

“No, of course he wouldn’t. You think it might be in the desk drawer?”

“Yeah, it was pretty big, twelve by eighteen, and it would need to be kept flat, so that would be a good place for it. Plus, the drawer locks, so it would be secure. If it’s there, I thought …” He looked at her a little hesitantly and shrugged. “It might be nice to put it in a frame for him for Christmas. If it’s okay with you, I mean.”

“Of course it’s okay with me. I’d love to have a picture of you and Alex on the wall.” She stopped suddenly, remembering some of the drawings in John’s sketchbook. “Oh, wait, it’s not … um …”

“Nude?” John laughed. “No, fully dressed.”

“Okay then. Not that I’d mind a nude one, but maybe not on the living room wall.” She stood up and looked around the room for a likely hiding place for the desk key. The key was small, so it could be almost anywhere. “I think the key must be in this room, because if he was hiding something, he wouldn’t want to go somewhere else for the key first.”

“That makes sense.”

The study was small, with just the computer desk and chair, a loveseat, John’s work table, and a set of bookshelves. “It would have to be somewhere on the bookshelves. There’s nowhere else to put anything.”

John stood up and started reading the titles of the books. Most of them were law books but there were lots of others as well. Alex was always buying books, history, biography, politics, and … “Oh, wait,” he said. He held up a cheap paperback romance novel whose cover showed a beautiful woman in the passionate embrace of a shirtless, muscular man. “Does this look like something Alex would read?”

“Oh, wow. Definitely not.”

“And, funny thing, the pages seems to be stuck together.”

Eliza stood up and took the book from John’s hands. The pages had been glued together in two sections so that the book opened like a box. A few inches in the middle of the pages had been cut out to make a small storage space. There was the key. She took it out and held it tightly in her hand. “Poor Alex,” she whispered. “He was hurting so much.”

John put his arm around her and pulled her close. “You are the most amazing woman I have ever met,” he said.

She shook her head. “No. I was furious the first day you were here. Angry and jealous and disgusted. I hated you and Alex both.”

“All the more reason. You could have sent me away.”

“I couldn’t. I could see how much Alex loved you and anyway …”

“What?”

“I wanted you to stay for my own sake. I couldn't admit it at the time, but I liked you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She tightened her arms around his waist. “We should see what that key opens before we get distracted.”

He laughed. “Good point.” He knelt down in front of the desk and inserted the small key into the keyhole. It turned easily, and he pulled the drawer open. There wasn’t much in it, but under a few papers was a sturdy folder, bigger than a regular file folder and made of some sort of heavy cardboard. John took the folder out of the drawer carefully and ran his hand over it. “He went to the trouble of getting an archival storage folder,” he said softly, his voice breaking.

“What’s that?”

“Paper’s fragile, so art on paper has to be stored carefully. Most storage materials won’t protect it properly, and it will break down, turn yellow and crumble like old newspapers. I never told Alex. He must have researched it himself.”

“Because the drawing was so important to him,” Eliza said.

John opened the folder and she saw the picture for the first time, Alex lying down with his head on John’s lap, John looking down at him, both of their faces filled with love.

“Oh, John, it’s beautiful. We’ll get it framed and hang it in the living room.”

“You’re sure?”

She reached for his hand. “Of course.”

“I love you,” he told her.

* * * * *

Eliza had been up and down the stairs ten times checking on everything, and had given Delia instructions as if they were going to be away for days instead of a couple of hours.

“It’s fine,” John told her. “Everything’s fine.”

“I moved the throw rug out of the bedroom,” she said.

“I know.”

“We’ll have some of Theo’s soup for dinner, I think. She made gallons of it when I first came home from the hospital, and there’s still some in the freezer.”

“Right.”

“You’re sure he’ll be able to get up the steps?”

“They wouldn’t send him home if he couldn’t.”

She bit her lip and nodded. “I’m a little anxious.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have noticed.”

That made her smile. “Okay, fine. Let’s go.”

Alex was sitting in a chair in his room, so ready to leave the place that he’d been in for the last six weeks. There was a cane leaning against the wall next to him, and he’d been told to use it for the next few weeks. He’d still be going to physical therapy sessions twice a week, and he had exercises that he was commanded to do daily. John was in charge of supervising all of that, so Alex was going to follow instructions. As far as everything else, he was just grateful to be going home. He’d been away for two months, and he couldn’t wait to get back to his own house, his own things, his own life.

One of the physical therapists reviewed all the information with Eliza, Alex signed the paperwork, and then they walked out of the facility together, he and Eliza and John. They were going home together, and his heart was full.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poogan's Porch is a real restaurant in Charleston, in a neighborhood with a lot of art galleries. I haven't been there, but I loved the name and their brunch menu looks amazing.  
The information about the name Moses/Musa is true, and so, sadly, is the fact that Afghan citizens who worked with the American Army didn't always receive the protection they were promised.  
Alex is coming home and adjustments will have to be made by everyone. I don't know about you, but I'm looking forward to Christmas dinner at Peggy and Gil's. It will be nice to see Angelica.  
Thank to all of you who have left kudos or comments. My readers are the best!


	10. The End of the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex is home. He, Eliza, and John begin living together. Francie and Philip make cookies for Santa. Gifts are exchanged. Peggy and Gil have an announcement. Angelica has chosen an unusual Christmas present for Eliza, Alex, and John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be one more chapter after this that will act as an epilogue.

Alex stood in the front hall looking around as if he expected things to have changed, but it was all still the same. Francie and Philip came running to see him, Delia behind them smiling, and everybody was hugging him. He needed to sit down. Eliza led him into the living room, and he settled comfortably into the rocking chair and gazed at the Christmas tree.

“It’s beautiful,” he said.

John put his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Next year, we’ll all do it together, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Philip’s stocking is red, and mine is green,” Francie told him, pointing to the fireplace. “Santa’s going to fill them with presents.”

“Yes, he is,” Alex agreed. “Tomorrow night.”

“And tomorrow we’re going to bake cookies for Santa,” Francie continued. “All of us together, our whole family.”

“Our whole family,” Alex repeated, trying not to cry.

Philip put his stuffed elephant on his father’s lap and said something. Alex nodded, hoping that was an appropriate response.

“He said you can hold Wally if you want because he’s snuggly,” Francie translated.

“I will then,” Alex said, tucking the elephant under his elbow. “Thank you, Philip.”

Philip managed a comprehensible “Welcome” and a beaming smile.

“Well,” Alex said a little later, after Delia had left for the day, they’d eaten dinner, and the children were asleep. “It’s good to be home …”

“But?” John asked.

“But I feel … I don’t know, disoriented?”

Eliza smiled and took his hand. “A lot has changed since the last time you were here.”

He looked toward the front hall. “We were all there, dressed up in our nice clothes, going out for dinner. I never thought it would be two months before I’d be back home. And I never in my wildest dreams imagined I’d be coming home to both of you.”

“Not even in your _wildest _dreams?” John asked. “Because I have to tell you, I’ve had some pretty wild dreams about you being here with both of us.”

Alex actually turned red. “Shit, John, what are you trying to say?”

John leaned in and put his hand on the back of Alex’s head to hold him in place and kissed him, taking all the time he wanted. Eliza watched, her eyes rapt and her lips parted. This was going to be _good._

When John finally pulled away, Alex’s heart was pounding. Eliza stood up and held out her hand. “Bedtime?” she suggested.

Alex flushed again. “Uh, yeah, yeah. God, I don’t know how to act.”

John helped him out of the chair and kissed the back of his neck. “Don’t worry, babe,” he whispered. “We got you.”

Eliza went upstairs ahead of them, and John walked behind Alex, who held on to the banister and managed without a cane.

“Good job,” John said when they reached the top of the stairs. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” Alex said.

“You’re breathing hard.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s because of the stairs.”

John slid his arm around Alex’s waist and nuzzled his neck with tiny licks and kisses. “Oh, my love, it’s been so long.”

Alex whimpered, but he still wasn’t sure how to do any of this. “Um, Eliza?”

“Don’t worry, she’s waiting for us.”

John and Eliza had planned, of course.

“C’mon,” John said, his arm still around Alex, guiding him to the bedroom.

Alex stopped in the doorway, trying to take in both the new king-size bed and Eliza lying on it, wearing a completely sheer pale-blue baby-doll nightie and a very tiny matching thong. “Oh, shit,” he gasped.

“We had to get a bigger bed,” John explained helpfully.

“Oh, yeah, right, sure,” Alex mumbled. “Oh, _fuck,_ Eliza!”

“Told you he’d like it,” Eliza said to John.

“I like it too,” John told her.

“You should help Alex get undressed,” she suggested.

“I can …” Alex started.

“Shut up,” John said. “I really want to do this.” He unbuttoned Alex’s shirt and tossed it to the floor, then unfastened his pants and pulled down the zipper. He slid his hand inside and ran it lightly up and down. “Oh, yeah,” he whispered. “Oh, _fuck,_ yeah.”

Alex was holding tightly to John’s shoulder, afraid he’d lose his balance. John removed the rest of his clothes, then said, “You should lie down, babe. You’re in the middle.”

Alex slid over next to Eliza, and John joined them a few seconds later to find Eliza in Alex’s arms, the two of them kissing passionately. John pressed himself to Alex’s side and returned to stroking him lightly. Alex gasped as he felt John’s hand on him and broke the kiss.

“We have to be a little bit careful,” John said, leaving his hand resting lightly on Alex, but not moving it. “I talked to your doctor, and …”

“You _what?_”

“Talked to your doctor. I’m not an idiot. You had a serious injury and surgery in a part of your body that we all want to be healthy, right? Besides, nothing ever surprises a doctor.”

“What did he say?”

John smiled and licked his lips. “He said to be careful and not to let you be too active at first.”

Eliza leaned across Alex to kiss John slowly, giving Alex a show. “So John and I are going to take care of you. Do you think you can lie still?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to die just thinking about it, but I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Oh, I like to hear that.” She got onto her knees next to him and looked at John. “I think he’ll behave.” She bent over and took his tip in her mouth, running her tongue around it, as John tightened his grip.

Alex dragged in a long, gasping breath. After that, he lost focus as John and Eliza shared him between them, mouths and hands everywhere, licking, sucking, and stroking. He thrust his hips up to push himself further into John’s mouth, and John put his hand on him to hold him in place. “If you move like that, we’ll have to stop.”

“Oh, God, don’t stop,” Alex begged. “I won’t move, I promise.” Eliza had him now, fingers massaging the base of his cock as she swirled her tongue around it.

John smiled and kissed him lightly. “Okay. Be good and lie still.” He traded places with Eliza, who brought her mouth to Alex’s, kissing him and running her hands over his chest.

“C’mere,” she whispered, taking his hand and guiding it between her legs.

Alex made an inarticulate noise in the back of his throat and pushed his fingers past her thong and inside her. She was soaking wet and slippery, and she made a satisfied humming noise as she began to move up and down on his fingers, while John worked him with his lips and tongue. Alex was lost, his whole body given over to sensation – John’s mouth on him and his fingers inside Eliza. Then Eliza pulled down the strap of her top to bare her breast, and guided it to his mouth. He took it hungrily, sucking hard as he scissored his fingers inside her. “Oh, yeah, that feels good, baby,” she murmured, “Do that.” She slid down on his fingers and moaned as he got his thumb on her clit. John added more pressure with his tongue as he took him in deeper and deeper. Alex sucked harder on Eliza’s breast, tonguing her nipple, overwhelmed with stimulation in so many places at once. After only a few more minutes of it, his body reacted with a long uncontrollable shudder, and everything exploded into kaleidoscope fragments with an intensity that left him breathless.

They both held him, one on each side, as he came down. “Oh, God, oh, fuck, oh, my fucking God,” he gasped.

“So it was okay, then?” John asked, grinning at him.

“Fuck you, John, I forgot how good you were …” Alex began, then stopped short and turned to Eliza. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she told him. “I know how good John is.”

“Oh, _fuck,”_ Alex said again, throwing his head back on the pillow. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Do you mind that I said it?”

“No, oh, God no, it’s so hot to even think about it that I may just die.”

John kissed him. “So it’s hot to think about me fucking Eliza?”

“You trying to kill me, John?”

“Nah, I think you can take it. You thinking about it now?”

“Of _course_ I’m thinking about it now.”

“Wouldn’t you rather watch than just think about it?”

“What do you … oh, God, oh, Jesus, yes, _yes!”_

Alex shifted to give them room, and then Eliza was in the middle. She turned to kiss him and said, “Anything you want to do is good, Alex, any touching or anything. You don’t have to be just a spectator.” She lay as close to Alex as she could, and he saw that her thong had vanished. When she opened her legs, she hooked her left leg around Alex’s knee and ran her toes up and down his calf. Alex propped himself up on his elbow to watch as John knelt between her legs – actually between her leg and his, which was about to make his brain explode – and went down on her. He watched his Eliza arch up into John’s mouth, saw her face, eyes closed and lips parted, heard the noises she made. He’d never been able to see her like this, and she was so gorgeous she took his breath away. He sat halfway up and twisted to the side so he could get hold of the pretty blue baby-doll top she was still wearing and yank it off. Her eyes opened, startled, and Alex gave her a smile and took her nipple in his mouth. She let out a noise between a gasp and a moan and then closed her eyes again as she caught her bottom lip in her teeth.

John got his thumb inside her and licked her clit one more time, then pulled himself up. He saw Alex watching and ran his hand across his mouth, then held out his fingers for Alex to taste. Alex sucked them greedily, and John gave him that beautiful smile. “Watch,” he whispered. “Watch me fuck this beautiful girl.”

Alex watched, watched John slide inside his wife, watched Eliza’s face as she felt him enter her, watched her push her hips up for him, heard their breathing turn to panting, listened to Eliza murmur, “Yes, yes, yes,” then get louder as it became, “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” and then no words at all, just a long keening noise, as John swore, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, yeah!” And then the three of them lay there tangled together, holding each other, tears on all their faces because the world had changed forever.

* * * * *

Delia wouldn’t be there for a few days since Eliza’s office was closed from Christmas Eve until New Year’s Day, and all they had to do on Christmas Eve day was make cookies for Santa. Eliza had asked Peggy what she could bring for Christmas dinner, and Peggy had said to bring nothing, because Gil was very into preparing the whole meal except for dessert, which Theo had already volunteered to make. “Listen, with everything you’ve had to deal with in the last couple of months, you should get to relax,” Peggy had added.

“Are you sure? I’m fine, really. The kids are making cookies, but we’re done with everything else. I’d really like to bring something.”

“Okay, then, how about a dip or some munchies for before dinner? We’ll probably open presents before dinner because the kids won’t want to wait.”

The container of shrimp dip was in the fridge, and all the presents to take to Peggy’s were wrapped, so after breakfast, Eliza got out the baking things while John went out to run a couple of last-minute errands. Alex was seated in one of the kitchen chairs because he wasn’t supposed to stand for too long. For some reason, walking was okay, and even encouraged, but standing in one position was not. John had consulted Alex’s physical therapist, and they were starting a walking program the day after Christmas. “Have to start training for that 5K,” John said. Alex was still acting like it was a joke, but Eliza knew John was dead serious.

Alex was staring at his coffee now, taking a sip from time to time, but he seemed distracted. Eliza paused and put her hand on his shoulder. “You okay? Are you in pain?”

Alex reached up and grabbed her hand. “I’m fine. A little pain, but nothing to worry about. That’s the way it will be for a while, they tell me. I’m just …” His voice broke and his hand tightened on hers. “How is it that I abandoned John, wouldn’t even call him, and then shut you out completely, treated both of you so unfairly, and you still love me? How is it that I woke up this morning with both of you next to me? How do I get to have everything I ever wanted?”

She brought his hand up to her mouth and kissed it. “Just lucky, I guess,” she said lightly, but her eyes were bright. “You know I feel the same way, right? Everything was so hard after you came back from Afghanistan. You had those terrible nightmares, and I felt as if I’d lost you and couldn’t find you.”

He nodded. “I was afraid if I let you get close to me, you’d find out about John.”

“And you shut John out too.”

“Because in the world we live in, I had to choose one of you.”

She kissed the top of his head. “And I love you for choosing me, but it was breaking your heart and John’s heart.”

They heard John’s car in the driveway, and they both smiled.

“You invited him for a visit,” Alex reminded her.

John walked in the door, a huge bouquet of red and white roses in his arms. He winked at Alex and handed the flowers to Eliza. “For the most amazing woman in the world from the guys who love her,” he said.

She kissed him and exclaimed over the roses, then kissed Alex and went to get a vase for them. John hung up his coat and kissed Alex. He kept his hand on Alex’s face. “When I woke up this morning, I couldn’t believe it was real.”

“Eliza and I were just talking about that.”

Eliza came back into the kitchen with a white vase for the flowers and smiled at John. “We were talking about what it’s like to be happy,” she said. “I feel like …” She waved her hand. “Like the sun’s out after months of rain.”

John caught her hand. “I think we’re going to be okay.”

Alex looked up. “Last night was the best night of my life.”

John nodded slowly. “Mine too. Eliza?”

“Same, definitely.”

“And I want you both to think about this,” John continued. “We can do that again whenever we want.”

Alex drew in a long, shaky breath. “Well, I’m fucked for the day.”

Eliza caught his eye and blew him a kiss. “Later. Right now, children and cookies.”

Francie and Philip – mostly Francie – had decided that they would make cookies with red and green sprinkles on them because those were Santa’s favorite colors. Eliza had opted for a simple sugar cookie recipe that the children could mix without much adult help, and then did her best to stay out of their way. The cookies might have been a little uneven in shape, but they tasted just fine, and Francie and Philip were proud and excited.

John had found a special “cookies for Santa” plate, and the children placed their creations on it with great care.

“How many cookies will Santa want?” Francie asked.

“Probably four,” Alex responded.

She nodded seriously and counted out four cookies, then took Philip’s hand. “This is four,” she told him, touching his hand to each cookie. “One, two, three, four.”

“Foah!” Philip said triumphantly, and they high-fived.

Alex was overcome. “They’re perfect,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. “They’re just perfect together.”

Eliza smiled, feeling a little emotional herself. “Francie adored Philip the minute she saw him. It was almost as if she recognized him in some way.”

“Because he was meant to be her brother,” John said softly. “The kids knew that. It was the adults who took a while to figure it out.”

By dinnertime, the children were vibrating with excitement. Philip wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but, as always, he followed Francie’s lead. Francie had to check on the cookies a couple of times, and then decided they should leave Santa a note so that he would know the cookies were for him. Eliza wrote the note, and Francie signed it with most of the letters in her name in random order. She solemnly handed the pen to Philip, who added a scribble, and John stood the paper up on the mantel next to the plate of cookies. Eliza hoped that a calm bedtime routine with a Christmas story would help, so she read them “The Tailor of Gloucester,” and they listened wide-eyed to the story of mice who could sew. They shepherded the children upstairs with promises to wake them if they didn’t wake on their own in the morning. “No chance of that,” John muttered when he got back downstairs.

Eliza poured them each a glass of wine, and they sat quietly in the living room enjoying the lights of the Christmas tree. They had some special gifts to exchange with each other before the public celebration at Gil and Peggy’s. John brought out a large wrapped package for Alex first. When Alex opened it to find the framed drawing, he started to cry. “I never thought …” he whispered. “I thought I’d always have to hide it.” He looked at Eliza. “It’s okay with you?”

“Of course it’s okay,” she said. “It’s a beautiful portrait of the men I love. I’ll be proud to have it on the wall.”

Alex stared at the picture for a few more minutes, then looked up. “How did you find the desk key?”

John raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? You thought you could hide something from us?”

Alex laughed ruefully. “I guess I never did.”

_That’s true,_ Eliza thought as she sipped her wine. _We all tried to hide things from each other, but none of us were successful. Thank God._

John handed her a small box tied with a red bow. “Alex and I consulted on this. I went to the store and got it, but Alex wrapped it because I’m bad at bows.”

She smiled and untied the ribbon. She suspected it was jewelry because of the size, but she wondered what they had chosen. It was a gold chain with five jeweled pendants hanging from it, three garnets, an opal, and a peridot. The peridot was her own August birthstone. Alex and both of the children had been born in January, and the opal was for John’s October birthday. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

“The jeweler said he can add more pendants when we need them,” John told her.

She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. “I think a diamond would look nice.”

“What month is that for?”

“April.”

John looked at Alex. “Do the math.”

Alex thought for a minute. “Late July or early August.”

“Would that be okay with both of you?” Eliza asked.

“I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing next summer,” Alex grinned.

“Me either,” John said. He pulled out his phone. “I’m putting it on my calendar now: July twentieth through August tenth, have as much sex as possible.”

“You’re not really, are you?” Eliza asked.

John laughed. “No, I’m pretty sure I’ll remember it without a note.”

Alex reached for John’s hand. “Let’s make sure Eliza gets her diamond.”

John kissed him, then kissed Eliza. “She deserves all the diamonds in the world.”

“One more thing,” Alex said, and gave him the box he’d had in his pocket. “Just like you and I consulted on Eliza’s gift, Eliza and I consulted on your gift. She had to go get it since she wouldn’t let me drive.”

John didn’t know what could be in the box. He certainly wasn’t expecting jewelry, but when he opened it, he almost broke down. It was a wedding ring, a duplicate of Alex’s. He held it tight in his hand, unable to speak. Eliza stood up and put her arms around him, leaning on his shoulder. “I took Alex’s and mine to the jeweler, and he changed our inscriptions, so all three of them say the same thing.”

John looked inside the ring, blinking away tears so he could see what it said: A.H. & E.S. & J.L. Eliza and Alex showed him that theirs had the same inscription. “So,” he said, when he could finally get a coherent sentence out, “You must be serious about this relationship.”

Alex held out his hand and John took it. “The law is what it is, as I know well, so we can’t formalize it any other way. When I get back to work, I’ll get started on the paperwork for guardianship of the children and that sort of thing. We’re all going to be their parents in every legal way.”

John kissed Alex, slowly and for a long time, then pulled Eliza close and did the same with her. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you.”

* * * * *

Eliza was driving to Gil and Peggy’s. John still wasn’t used to driving in Manhattan, and Alex wouldn’t be allowed to drive for another month. Alex was in the back seat with the children and the trunk was full of presents. It was about as normal a family Christmas as it could be.

It had been a long time since they had all been together – well, they had never all been together. John was a new addition. He had met everybody by now, if only briefly, except Angelica and her English husband. Eliza tried to push away any misgivings she might have had. Both of her sisters had acknowledged her changed relationship, but neither had shown any enthusiasm. Angelica didn’t know John at all, and, while Gil could talk to Peggy about John and give her some insight into his character, Angelica had no information. Eliza’s last conversation with her older sister had ended with Angelica saying, “Well, I’ll try. I won’t look for trouble because I love you, so I’ll try to like him. That’s all I can promise.”

Eliza didn’t see how anyone would have to try to like John. She herself had been determined to hate him, and yet she had been completely won over by his transparent honesty and kindness. She hoped Angelica would see these qualities as easily as she had.

Peggy and Gil had managed to set up seating for eleven adults and two children in their small apartment by borrowing a table and a couple of high chairs. Gil was determined that if they were hosting Christmas dinner, they were going to do it right. Next year, he hoped, they’d be in a bigger apartment. For now, they would make it work, even if the Christmas tree was small and crammed into a corner by the window. Peggy met them at the door and took their coats, clearly enjoying being the hostess. Aaron and Theo were already there, along with their two-year-old Daisy, who was carrying a baby doll with her.

“Christmas present?” Eliza asked.

“Of course,” Theo responded. “What did yours get?”

“A lot of stuff, but Philip brought his walrus, and Francie has her spyglass. They play explorers a lot.”

“How cute!”

“I don’t really think Philip knows what an explorer is, but he’d follow Francie to the ends of the earth, so it works for them.” She watched Francie introduce herself and Philip to Daisy.

Theo smiled. “They seem to be fine,” she said.

Eliza nodded. She and Theo had been friends for a long time. “They are. We all are.”

Theo gave her a quick hug. “Merry Christmas, Eliza. You’ve had a really challenging year, but it looks like things are better.”

Eliza held her friend’s hand for a minute. “Things are so much better, Theo. Really, really good.”

“Then God bless you and Alex and John. If you’re happy, I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you,” Eliza responded, blinking away tears. If only everyone would see it the way Theo did.

Herc and James arrived a few minutes later, as Peggy was putting out the shrimp dip and a tray of raw vegetables and cheese. “Oh, fancy shit,” Herc commented, grabbing a carrot.

“It’s Christmas,” Peggy reminded him. “If we want to be fancy, we can be fancy.”

Eliza was just getting to know James. Herc changed boyfriends so often that she didn’t always get to meet them. James had been around for several months, though. That was quite unusual. She looked at him speculatively. He was certainly cute, but all Herc’s boyfriends were cute. He had blue-gray eyes, light brown hair with blond highlights, and completely adorable dimples.

“You checking James out?” Herc asked from behind her.

“Of course.”

“He’s gay.”

“I thought he might be. Really cute, though.”

“Yep.”

She looked up and over her shoulder at Herc’s face. “You’ve been seeing him for a while, haven’t you?”

“Four months.”

“Wow, is that a record?”

Herc chuckled but didn’t answer the question. “Is the shrimp dip any good?”

“Yeah, I made it.”

“That’s why I’m asking.”

She laughed and watched him cross the room and talk to Alex and John. He seemed happy and relaxed, and so did James, who was helping Gil in the kitchen. They were all fine. Their closest friends were completely fine with her and Alex and John. Peggy was okay with it, and after she got to know John, she’d understand how right it was.

Angelica wasn’t late yet; Peggy had said between six and six-thirty and it was only six-twenty. Angelica and Church had just flown in two days ago and were probably still jet-lagged. There was no reason to worry. When the knock finally came on the door, she was relieved – or maybe anxious. It was hard to tell the difference. She got up, though, and went to greet her sister, who looked stunning as always, in a gray and green striped silk sheath and long diamond earrings. Eliza was sure they were diamonds, because John Church had more money than he knew what to do with. Church himself was wearing a diamond earring, but he wore it well, with no self-consciousness. There were lots of hugs, and then Angelica crossed the room to talk to Alex. Eliza watched her face, but she saw nothing but genuine concern. Alex looked like he was reassuring her. Then Alex introduced Angelica to John. _Damn,_ Eliza thought, _after I practiced that so many times. _

This made sense, though. John was standing right next to Alex’s chair, so to do it any other way would have been awkward. Angelica smiled, but Eliza couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

Peggy was banging a spoon on the kitchen counter, making a lot of noise. “I’m so glad everybody’s here,” she said, “because Gil and I have something to tell you.” Gil was standing next to her, grinning. Peggy held up her left hand. “We’re engaged!”

Eliza and Theo both shrieked, and Angelica yelled, “Let’s see it!” The ring was beautiful, an emerald-cut diamond set in platinum. The guys congratulated Gil and pretended they weren’t interested in the ring, but they all made sure they got a look.

“Do you have a date in mind yet?” Angelica asked. “Let me know so I can start looking for flights.”

“June,” Peggy said, her face alight. “We’re going to have a June wedding.”

“Wow, not wasting any time,” Herc commented.

“There’s no reason to wait,” Gil said. “It won’t be a big wedding, but it will be a very nice one.”

“That’s right,” Peggy agreed. “You’ll be getting a save-the-date card soon.”

Eliza’s eyes met Alex’s across the room. He was happy for Peggy and Gil. Gil, like Alex and John, had been through dark times. Now he had a new beginning too.

They opened presents from one another on the living room floor, mostly small items from the adults to one another, but the children got gifts too, including a fluffy English wool sweater for Daisy from Angelica and Church, a huge set of crayons in every possible color for Francie from Peggy and Gil, and a book about Arctic animals for Philip from Herc and James. “How did you know?” Eliza asked Herc as Philip stared entranced at the picture of a polar bear.

“Alex mentioned it,” Herc said. “James found it at the Museum of Natural History.”

“It’s perfect.” She gave James a kiss on the cheek.

There was one small gift left, tagged to Eliza, Alex, and John from Angelica and Church. Alex handed it to Eliza. “Go ahead, you open it.”

Eliza smiled and glanced at Angelica, who looked a little apprehensive. “I hope you like it,” she said. “It’s kind of strange.”

It wouldn’t be the first time Angelica had chosen a whimsical gift, so Eliza was fine with it. When she opened it, though, she was puzzled. It was a small window set in a window frame that looked like it had come from a doll house. The window opened and closed, and it was cute, but there was more to it, she was sure.

She turned to her sister with a quizzical look, holding the window in her hand. She opened and closed it a few times so everyone could see how it worked, but she was still puzzled. “Well, Ange, you’re still the smartest Schuyler sister, so tell me about this.”

Angelica flushed a little. “I wanted to find something that would tell you how I was feeling. You and Alex and John …” She included them all with a sweep of her hand. “I may not have been as understanding as I could have been, so I’ve been thinking about it a lot. You went through some incredibly difficult things. John, I don’t know you well yet, but you came back from Afghanistan with an injury that could have ended your whole career, but it didn’t because you fought through it. Alex, you suffered too because you were trying to do the right thing, and then you nearly died in a terrible car accident. And Eliza, my dear Eliza, remember when you called me about Alex’s nightmares, and I said you should call John Laurens? Obviously, that was an insane suggestion, and I had no idea what I was talking about, but you did call him, and he came, and then he stayed to help you, and he took care of both of you. And he brought his beautiful little girl to be Philip’s big sister.”

By now, almost everyone was crying. Angelica reached for Eliza’s hand and held on to it tightly. “So maybe things didn’t go exactly as you’d planned, but in the end, maybe even better than you’d planned, right?”

Eliza nodded because she couldn’t speak.

Angelica continued. “You know how they say that when it looks like there’s no way forward, you can still find a way? You know the old saying, ‘When God closes a door, he opens a window’? Well, that’s what that is.” She gestured toward the tiny window in Eliza’s hand. “So many doors closed for all three of you, but you never gave up. That’s your open window. That’s the window you flew out of together into a new and happy life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Tailor of Gloucester" is my favorite Beatrix Potter story.  
The birthday months are all correct.  
If you follow me on tumblr (@daisy-rivers), you'll see a picture of Herc's boyfriend James. If you don't, can you guess who he is from the description? I brought him over from the Provoke Outrage AU, where he goes by his real name and has played the role of Will Scarlet in the (fictional) Broadway musical "Sherwood."  
One more chapter to go in this story. Thanks so much to everyone who has followed along, and thanks especially for leaving kudos and comments.


	11. We Keep Loving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very short epilogue chapter just to let you know how everyone is nine months later.

The leaves were still mostly green, just starting to shade into yellow, but there was a distinct chill in the air, especially this early in the morning. Eliza had dressed Philip in the brown wool sweater that Angelica had sent from London. Francie’s was dark green. The children were right there next to her, Philip secure in the stroller, and Francie crouching down talking to him. She wrapped her fingers around her cardboard coffee cup and took a couple of minutes to think as the crowd milled around her. Only a year ago, she had been so unhappy, angry and hurt at Alex for shutting her out, even as she worried about his constant nightmares. She’d had no real idea what he was suffering. A year ago, she hadn’t even met John.

She took a sip of the hot coffee. It tasted good. This time, she was having almost no morning sickness. “Every pregnancy is different,” the doctor had said, but looking back, she could see how stressed she had been when she was pregnant with Philip. Now, Alex and John were constantly competing to see who could do more to make her life easier. The baby was due around the middle of April. Her boys had made good on their promise to add a diamond pendant to her necklace.

Only Peggy had had the nerve to come right out and ask which one was the father. She hadn’t really minded because she welcomed the opportunity to say that she neither knew nor cared. “If we ever need to know for health reasons, we can find out,” she had explained. “Otherwise, it doesn’t matter.”

And it didn’t. Francie and Philip loved both their daddy and their papa. The new baby would too. Peggy and Gil had had a lovely wedding in June, where some of the more distant Schuyler relatives had wondered which one of those handsome young men was Eliza’s husband. Anybody who had asked Peggy or Angelica had gotten the same answer, decided on by the two of them in advance: “I forget.” Peggy might be a little too curious herself sometimes, but nobody was going to interrogate Eliza if she had anything to say about it.

Eliza took out her phone and checked the time. “Pretty soon now,” she told the kids.

Francie looked up at her, a tiny frown creasing her brow. “I think Papa might not win,” she said, “because sometimes he still has ouchies. Daddy might win, though.”

Eliza shook her head. “It’s not that kind of a race, sweetie, at least not for most people. It’s just to show how far you can walk. Daddy’s going to stay with Papa the whole time.”

Francie’s face brightened. “That’s good. That will make Papa feel better.”

John had consulted Alex’s physical therapist through the whole process, starting out with short walks, and gradually increasing time and distance. Alex had complained at first, but John was persistent, and they walked every day as soon as Alex got home from work. When they had started, Alex had still been using a cane most of the time, and John had held his hand for extra security. The cane was discarded after a while, but they never stopped holding hands. Eliza would watch them from the window as they set out, her heart full. No matter how cranky Alex was when they began – and after a bad day at work, Alex could be very cranky indeed – by the time they got back, he was almost always calm and relaxed. Sure, there was lots of evidence that exercise and being outdoors were good for anxiety and depression, but Eliza always believed that the real treatment that worked for Alex was John’s presence. _That smile_. It still made her heart flutter the way it had the first time she saw it. Nobody could see John smiling and remain unhappy.

They would come back from their walk still holding hands, and the children would meet them at the door. _We’re content now,_ Eliza thought. It was an odd word to use, maybe, but that’s what it was, a feeling of calm and of knowing they had everything they needed.

The crowd was gathering around the finish line as the first runners crossed it. She pushed the stroller in that direction, Francie holding on to her sleeve, and stopped where they would see Alex and John come around the final corner of the route. She spotted Theo a short distance away and waved to get her attention. She knew Aaron was participating in the race, but hadn’t seen them earlier. Theo came over to join them, and put Daisy down to talk to Francie and Philip.

“We just got here,” she said. “I had a million errands to run, and watching them start doesn’t matter so much.”

“I know,” Eliza agreed, “but I wanted to be here for Alex’s first 5K.”

“Oh, of course! Aaron runs one of these almost every month, so I don’t get to all of them. We’re here to cheer for Alex and John too.”

Eliza gave her a quick hug. “Thank you. This is really kind of a big deal for us.”

“I’m sure it is after that awful car accident.” She smiled. “It’s all worked out for you guys now, though, hasn’t it?”

Eliza’s face lit up. “In ways I couldn’t even have imagined. This time last year, Alex was having those terrible nightmares, and we were barely speaking to each other. And then I had the brilliant idea to invite John to visit.” She rolled her eyes. “Poor Gil was beside himself trying to talk me out of it.”

Theo laughed. “Aren’t you glad he didn’t?”

“Of course I am now, but those first few days … I wanted so much to hate John.”

“I think John Laurens is probably the least hate-worthy person I’ve ever met,” Theo said softly, her hand on Eliza’s arm.

Eliza smiled at her friend. “No wonder Alex fell in love with him in Afghanistan, right? Once I fell in love with John myself, I completely understood what happened to Alex.”

“When you put it like that, I have to admit it sounds a little unusual, but when I see the three of you together, it makes my heart happy. It’s like you were made to be together.”

“That’s how we feel. More than the sum of our parts, Alex says.”

Cheers at the finish line were getting louder, and they turned to look. “There’s Aaron!” Theo said, and picked up Daisy so she could see.

“Uncle Aaron’s crossing the finish line,” Eliza told the kids, managing to hold each one up just long enough for them to get a glimpse. They were clapping and cheering in excitement.

“Did Uncle Aaron win?” Francie asked.

“Not quite,” Aaron responded, jogging up to them. “I think I made the top twenty percent.”

Theo handed him a bottle of water. “Hydrate,” she ordered.

He grinned at her and gulped down about half the water. “It was really good to see Alex here. John too, of course, but Alex had such a long road back from the accident.”

Eliza smiled. “I know what you mean, John understood what he was going through in a way that I couldn’t, since John had fought so hard to recover from his own injury.”

“It’s hard to believe that John wasn’t always left-handed,” Theo said. “His art is so amazing.”

“It is, isn’t it? He’s got two more portrait commissions after he finishes the one of Councilman Livingston. And he just signed a contract this week for a gallery show in Manhattan, so that’s a big deal.”

“That’s great! He’s going to be famous, and I can say I knew him when.”

Eliza smiled. “There’s some other news too.”

“What?”

She hadn’t told anybody except her family yet, but Theo deserved to be the first of her friends to know. “We’re going to have another baby in April.”

Theo let out a screech loud enough that heads turned all around them, and she threw her arms around Eliza. “I am so happy for you! Do you need any soup?”

Eliza laughed as Aaron hugged her too. “I don’t think so. I’m really feeling pretty good this time.”

“I’ll make some anyway,” Theo declared. “It’s very good for you even if you don’t have morning sickness.”

Aaron broke into the conversation. “Look,” he said, pointing.

Eliza stood on tiptoe just in time to see John and Alex jogging to the finish line. They were holding hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this angsty-beginning but happy-ending story. Many thanks to all of you who read it, left kudos, or commented. I can't seem to leave Alex, John, and Eliza alone, and there's a new story in the works. Title is "When You Were Mine," and Francis Kinloch is not a good guy. Stay tuned; first chapter should be up very soon.  
Thanks again for all the kind words and for reading my stories.


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